Pandora's Key
by Kist
Summary: He balanced on the edge of existence, half demon, half demigod, with a small black box held between his hands. He was willing to die, ready to die, but there she was reaching through the fibers of existence, trying to save him. And to think it all started with a soccer ball he never should have caught and a ghost that no human girl should have been able to see. Hitsugaya/Karin
1. Three Hours prior

As always, I do not own the characters or the so-called universe they reside in. Just the ideas.

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A soccer ball rolled down the hill, and she cursed the boy responsible. It was always look at me, look at this, a big show of macho charisma. But it seemed like all the boys had the disease these days. She had known them for years and years, and now, just now, they decided to turn into worthless goons. Great.

She skid to a stop, helpless to prevent the ball from rolling into the street. Short black hair swishing by her ear, she brushed it back, thinking "Those idiots!" as her brand new soccer ball bounced in front of a car. She edged down to the sidewalk, mindful of the oncoming traffic.

When the last car had driven past, she was surprised to find that her new ball had not been completely flattened. She was surprised, however, to see a boy with the strangest colored hair. White like snow and standing every which way like her brother's, yet, softer somehow.

_Her ball!_ The boy had caught it with his foot. He seemed surprised by its sudden appearance as though he had simply raised his leg and suddenly there was something underneath it.

He cast a glance up the hill, not a searching scan to locate the owner; his eyes shot up to her like a laser-beam as if he already knew she was there. A chill tore through her, goosebumps rising on her arm, but what made the experience even more bizarre was that appearance warm flush that rose in her cheeks.

As those serous teal eyes stared through her, all she could remember thinking is how strange this boy was, how different. His eyes spoke of far off places, of worlds and journeys and experience, and they were so _cold_. Somehow she, in her eleven years of wisdom, knew she was meeting a creature which was beyond her.

Before she could shake off the feeling—she had no right to judge a total stranger—he had kicked the ball, up, up, and she followed its path with her eyes, stretching out her arms to catch it. When it was securely in her possession once more, she looked back at the stranger to thank him, to ask…but he was gone. She blinked, the entire street deserted, no cars or anything.

Behind her, three other boys called her name, "Karin! Karin!" eager to get back to the game, but she lingered just a moment longer, eyes staring at the spot the boy had been, mind spinning.

.

But that was three years ago.

A lot can happen in three years. She found that boy again, hounded him to play for her team, and in the end, made a really good friend. She had been right too; he _was_ different.

A lot can change in three years. Soccer wasn't the same any more. It felt almost _childish_, to hang around a deserted field, kicking a ball around. She wasn't exactly sure what had changed. The grass was still green, the goals as open as they had ever been. The boys were still stupid, and she still dragged them around by the ear. But somehow it wasn't the same game she remembered it being. It wasn't fun anymore.

Now that she knew about soul-eating monsters and that other world of death reapers and demigods, it just felt _wrong_ to keep hanging around the soccer field.

A few days ago, she had been practicing her penalty kicks, just as a way to knock out her frustrations with school and the idiotic _morons_ she called friends, when she felt that familiar chill of something sinister sliding into the human plane. She turned her head to the east debating whether she should investigate when three more appeared.

She left her soccer ball in the middle of the field. She was aware enough of her own spiritual energy that she knew how to deal with those monsters without it. Her old method to break their masks by the shear force of her kicks seemed almost laughable now. She wouldn't need it.

Hours later, she limped past the park on her way home, her eye swollen and her left arm bleeding. Her ball was still sitting in the middle of the field where she left it. She stared at it, feeling suddenly so old and _tired_. She didn't bother to pick it up as she shuffled past. Just kept on walking.

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If anyone saw her running, they would just brush it off. It was her habit to run in the evenings before dinner, sometimes on an errand for her father or her sister, sometimes on her own private mission to protect as much of the city as she could, sometimes just because the house was too loud or dad was being too stupid or her room was too quiet or the homework too mundane. Sometimes, she just needed to just _go_.

If anyone saw her running, they wouldn't spare her a second glance. That was just the Kurosaki girl running off again, regular as clockwork that one.

But it they had looked back or spared a second to study her face, they might have caught the wrinkle in her brow, at the fear in her eyes, the wildness in her tangled, unbound hair. If they had just waited a second longer then they would have known that something was wrong. They might have worried then, that if _Karin_ looked upset, something must have happened.

At that moment, she wouldn't have cared if they had looked, wouldn't have cared what they thought. She was too busy cursing the limitations of her human legs. Fast as they were, they weren't fast enough.

She was going to kill him. If she found him. When she found him. She would find him even if she had to haul him out of the grave, drag him back to the world of the living, just for the satisfaction of, of…she didn't know.

He had dropped off the face of the map for a week, not contacting her or Matsumoto or anyone. And then Matsumoto drops on her out of the blue and says that he is going to...

She swallows that thought. Toshiro won't be doing _anything_, once she gets her hands on him.

So what if Matsumoto couldn't find him anywhere in Soul Society, he couldn't hide from _her_, not on Earth at least. She knew his habits, knew that he would want to see the river, to see the sun's setting rays cast red against the sky. One last time.

Panting desperately, she smiled in relief when she spotted his figure casually leaning against the railing. He held his phone loosely in his hand, but his attention was focused on the sky like nothing had changed.

In some ways, nothing had.

His emerald eyes flickered in her direction revealing neither surprise nor satisfaction with her company. She wasn't sure if it was because he could sense her spiritual energy (she still hadn't figured out how to mask it) or if it was because he expected her. Maybe that was why he came here, because he knew she would find out and would look for him.

She squashed that thought, not daring to hope; she had always known that her feelings had been one-sided.

No, they were friends, and she knew he wouldn't leave it up to someone else to tell her. Of course, he couldn't seek her out, she realized, as that is exactly where Matsumoto would look. Yet his presence, here, in the one place she always seemed to find him spoke volumes on how he must have regarded her.

His hands retreated to his pockets as she approached, and while he tried to appear casual, she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze lingered on her a second longer than it should have. He was nervous.

She honestly wasn't sure what he was expecting from her, anger, shouting, crying, desperate pleas? Matsumoto would have tried all of these methods already to no effect. Suddenly, Karin felt off-centered. What was she hoping to accomplish here? What could she say or do that could change his mind?

Matsumoto was convinced that Karin could turn the tide, to force him to reconsider, but what were a few human years compared to the hundreds he spent with his lieutenant in Seireitei?

She griped his shoulder for balance as she jumped over the railing, but he didn't complain, didn't even twitch.

For a long time, she just stared at him, grey eyes full of pain. He met her gaze openly, but their was a certain quietness to his expression as though his emotions had been dampened down, yet there was a certain yearning there as he stared at her, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

"Why?" She whispered, breaking off their staring contest.

"I have to."

A choking sound escaped from her throat, and she doubled over clutching her chest as though her heart were being torn out. Toshiro squatted next to her, hesitating as though he was afraid to touch her.

"You," she moaned miserably, "You want to die Shiro-chan?"

_'No.'_ But he didn't say it, didn't want to make this any harder than it needed to be. He was the only one who could plant the device, the only one who could end the war. What was one life compared to the many? What was his life worth compared to theirs, compared to _hers_.

He put a hand on her shoulder awkwardly. It felt as though there was a great wall between them that had never been there before, and he didn't know how to cross it. He didn't know what to do with this Karin; he had expected anger, expected her to yell and shout and throw her best punch. Not this.

This... this was almost unbearable.

She was trying to hide it, the small salty water building up in the corner of her eye, blinking rapidly to keep it from falling, and his heart sunk to his knees just watching her try to fight it.

She was only human. She would change and grow, and her heart would lead her into different directions, away from him and his troubles. With the Las Noches gone, she would be free and normal and human like everyone else. In time, all the ugly memories would fade. Even this one.

The small black box would do more than just eliminate Las Noches; it would purify it. It would change its fundamental nature. Las Noches would not be a land of darkness filled with empty, hungry souls, but just another gateway, a different route souls that were still _attached_ to the human world could take. It would soothe that hunger, soften their violent nature, until they could enter soul society, until they could return home.

No more fighting, no more wars.

No more paperwork, no more yelling at Matsumoto to lay off the sake.

No more training session with his division, no more random candy binges from Jushiro, no more sparing with Renji, no more correcting his peers that its _Captain Hitsugaya_, and no more height jokes from, well, everyone.

No more trips to the human world. No more Karin.

Karin had stopped clutching her chest but now all she was doing was staring forward. Arms held stiffly at her side, her hands were tightly clenched into fists.

"You don't have to do this," she said stonily, glaring out at the water, "not for them, not for _me_."

He shifted so that he was facing her

"We'll find another way," she insisted, a note of desperation creeping into voice.

Hands reached out to still her arms, careful to avoid the bandaged areas; his grip was tight but not painful. She didn't fight, but her eyes were alight with something desperate.

"I'll help! There's no need for you to-"

He leaned forward, catching her off guard. Her eyes widened as their lips met.

She was so warm, so alive. Kami forgive him for kissing a human.

He wanted to stay, wanted to hold her, wanted to keep her forever. Why couldn't she understand? He had to protect that, had to protect _her_.

The stunned Karin responded sluggishly, red flooding her face. She had dreamed about this, a quiet fantasy she kept locked in her heart. Her first kiss tasted all wrong. It felt like goodbye. '_No, please no, don't let this be goodbye_.' She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangled her hands in his hair. It _couldn't_ be goodbye.

But just like that it was over, Hitsugaya pulling back. "I have to go."

"No, don't!" she begged, her hands curling into his shirt, trying to hold on to him, trying to keep him here. "Please don't." she whispered, hating the way her voice cracked, sounding so vulnerable and defeated.

He was avoiding her gaze again.

"Why?" she asked for the third time. "You still haven't answered my question."

He pried her hands off of his shirt, and she let him, watching as he peeled open each finger with a tenderness she had never seen in him before.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, the notification light was blinking, a hollow nearby. He ignored it, not even bothering to flip it open.

A tear trickled down her cheek. Why?

He put the device in her hands. Why?

She could feel the monster now, the familiar chill washing through her. Why?

"You won't have to fight anymore. No one will." Because life is precious. Because life is worth protecting.

The phone slipped through her fingers, a flash of silver falling to the ground.

She let it go, let it slide away. No. NO! Arms reached for him ready to hold him as tightly as she could. Not for this, not for anything.

"Trust me." He breathed.

They wrapped around empty air. She stumbled, her center of gravity thrown off balance. Her knees bent, and she sat, no energy left to stand.

A few feet away, a silver phone blinked. She told herself that she didn't care. She didn't care if one hundred hollows were attacking.

It was a lie. Of course she cared.

She hauled herself to her feet, whipping the moisture from her eyes. Stupid dust, making her cry. She stooped, picking up the phone, black hair hiding her face.

Of course she cared.

She flipped it open, following the little red dot as it moved across the screen. Ember Street, only a block away. Hoping over the railing, her feet carried her down the street.

As she ran, Karin glanced back up at the sky. Orange and red, pink clouds and a golden moon, beautiful.

She gripped the phone tightly in her hand and abruptly changed directions. Not yet. It's not over yet.

...

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A/N: If you read this far, please leave a review. I'm not asking that you put any more that "nice fic" or "This is crap." It's just nice to know that someone was reading, and my story had enough of an impact on your day to merit a quick comment or reply. If you have time to write more, please do.

Thanks for reading :)


	2. Eight

**Author's Note:** First, I'm sorry it took so long for me to post this. I had been working on this for quite some time, but due to the nature of the story and the way it is written, I could not post anything until the timeline was almost completely filled in (as you shall see shortly).

I wanted to thank everyone who reviewed the story previously; you were my inspiration to continue writing this fic, and are the reason it will see completion.

Without any further fanfare, I present the next part of _Of Course_:

**Eight Centuries before deadline**

In the great swirling mass of the in-between, where there is neither life nor death, neither joy nor pain a massive white orb split apart, two souls linked by chains. They immediately threaded off with other souls as all functional spirits do.

Settled, weighted, and balanced, they approached the medium. The first one, the lighter one, shot forward without delay, eager to taste the world of the living, the freedoms, the chains, the challenges of life.

The second orb doddered, waiting. Many of its connections were not ready and it was woe to go without them. Another soul approached, a glow of kinship between them, the promise of family. A second followed the first, then a third and fourth, the last two with chains binding them together.

The last two were older souls and descended into the world with practiced ease while the other three waited, floating at the barrier, waiting for the call of the two older souls.

They did not have to wait long. First they called the soul of the boy, the brother, more masculine than the other two.

When they called again, this time for the split soul, the other soul, also new and fresh and young, reached for the other, afraid of descending alone. So they went together, sisters.

Five souls, brother, sisters, family, tied to the world in ways they could not possibly imagine. The threads of fate pulled, and like a rubber band, the five responded.

**Eight years before Deadline**

A girl with short black hair was putting flowers on a sun-bleached grave. The numbers burned into her eyelids, a date imprinted on her very soul, under a name that was carved into the polished rock far too soon. Her sister stood to her right looking solemn. Her father was quite, uncharacteristically so, staring at his oldest child who had wandered away from the group, preferring to mourn alone.

Lilies, rare, beautiful, and difficult to grow in this part of the world, lay against cold stone. They were her mother's favorite.

She had cried when she heard what had happened. Her mother had gone to pick Ichigo up from the dojo, and the two were walking back. It had been raining so visibility wasn't the best, but it was still no excuse. Some driver had swerved off the road, slamming into her mother. Maybe he was drunk, maybe his tires slid, maybe his brakes were shot. Excuses, apologies, explanations wouldn't bring her mother back, and she was in no mood to entertain them.

The coward had sped off, leaving behind a blood-spattered street, a pink umbrella, and a boy with bright orange hair screaming at the rain. Death was instant. At least she hadn't suffered.

After that day, she swore never to cry again. Tears would not bring her mother back or fix any of her other problems, and she refused to be a burden to others.

Yuzu sniffled, wiping her eyes. The fair haired sister could cry; she was always the softer one. She would burry her sorrows, Karin knew, in work, trying to fill the gap left by her mother. Yuzu had been their mother's shadow when she was busy about the house, one hand on her skirt, the other on a spoon. Taking over those tasks would be the youngest Kurosaki's way of honoring her mother's memory.

Her brother's path would be different. He was distancing himself; she could see it already. A loner by nature, Ichigo was already wandering off, already drifting away. He blamed himself for what happened, and the guilt, irrational though it may be, was eating away at him. One day, he would leave. Leave the memories, the guilt, the fear, leave and never look back.

Her father, well, she didn't know what would happen to him. He was the strong one, the unstoppable force, the unbreakable wall, unfaltering, unwavering, protective and strong. She had never seen him so, so vulnerable, so lost.

What would happen to them? This little family of misfits? Would they get those looks of pretend pity, those comforting pats from people who didn't _understand_? They didn't know what it was like to lose someone you needed so much, to pretend that you were _fine_, that you weren't actually hurting.

She looked away, not wanting to stare at that stone a moment longer. Everything within her was screaming to run, to just spirit away and never look back, to run and run and run until she couldn't breathe, until her legs gave out, until that ache inside her chest subsided. But her sister's arm was locked around her own, her anchor. She wouldn't leave, no, she _couldn't_. Yuzu needed her, her father needed her, but she did not want to stay.

Something shimmered in the air above a tombstone farther down, the blurred outline of a person in funny black pajamas touching a grave. She squinted, but the figure was no easier to make out.

Weeks later, she would realize that she had just seen her first ghost.

…..

In a parallel world, a boy stretched out his hand. It was that call again, stronger now, so tangible he could feel it.

It was sad and lonely and looking for something. Waiting, it had been waiting so long, and it was yearning for this moment to come. So close, so close he could grasp it. He reached forward instinctively, trying to wrap his hand around that something. Cold. Freezing. It called. It beckoned, needing to be found, needing him, and without understanding how, the boy knew that he needed it too.

His fingers touched something hard. It began to slip away. No! He had it in his grasp, pulling it back towards him.

Images flashed across his mind of things he did not understand, a girl with black hair running down a street, a dragon flying across an icy plane, a strange device, black tentacles wrapping around his wrist, and laughing yellow eyes.

He ignored them, pulling, straining. He would not give up; he needed it to—

Whatever force that was restraining it, released its hold. The boy tumbled backwards, landing on his backside as messy white hair fell into his eyes. Brushing it back, he stared at his prize, a rare smile creeping on his face.

A sword. He felt it singing in his palm, that calling voice ringing in his ears. A name.

It was a long blade, easily rising above his own short stature. He was still too small to carry it on his waist like the shingami, but it would fit well enough on his back.

Heavy, but he had born worse. Many would be surprised that the things he could carry, at the things he _would_ come to carry. His frame may have been small, his wrists slender, but just because he looked young didn't mean he was helpless.

To a child, the world is pure. Black and white, good and evil. Innocent, naïve. Love is pure. That simple need to protect, to defend. His granny, he would not be her killer, but more than just her, Momo and others precious to him, even that stranger with the warm smile.

He felt a power coursing through his veins, like a tidal wave pressing against the boundaries of his restraints. With this blade, he could protect them, protect all of them, his family, his fellow street rats, even the angry shop-spitters. He could, and he _would_. Protect all of them, his home, his world. Everyone.

In his hands, the sword hummed in approval of its new master. Hyourinmaru had been waiting centuries for this wielder, for this boy. He had looked into his heart and saw the boy's destiny. He was not disappointed. No lesser soul would have him.

**Eight Months Before Deadline**

"I'll be right back." It seemed like something she had been saying more and more lately.

"Where are you going?" chorused the boys.

"Sorry, but I just realized that I have to run an errand for my sister."

A collective groan. "Can't you do that later?" they whined. "How are we supposed to practice if our captain's running errands all the time?"

She did feel bad about lying to them, but that creeping chill was not going away, and she needed to stop it before it actually hurt anyone. "I'm really sorry, but this is important. You know, girl stuff. Just runs some more drills until I come back."

They waved her off, not wanting to argue. They were starting to get suspicious, she knew. It was only a matter of time before she ran out of excuses. She was pressing their measly patience thin already.

Jogging off the practice field, she began shooting out spikes of spirit energy, trying to draw the creature towards her. It usually worked for the dumb ones.

As soon as she was out of sight, she began running. That thing wasn't moving. Either it wasn't interested or was already _eating_. A tremor in the ground. Most people would blame the construction company working on the new bridge or perhaps think it was only a mild earthquake, but she and the few 'aware' humans still on earth would know better.

Left at the stoplight, she ran past a pileup of honking cars. A smashed fire hydrant was shooting up a column of water, and she slowed her pace only to avoid slipping. Whatever it was trying to eat was putting up a fight.

Rounding a corner, she could see what looked like a massive preying mantis making slicing motions at a humanoid shape. It was dodging with varying degrees of success, but its chain of fate was making things difficult. It wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer.

She whistled, attempting to distract the beast. The humans, the ghost of a teenage boy, and the mask of a hollow all turned in her direction.

She put her hands together in a gun shape, focusing her spiritual energy. She may not have a sword, and she may not be a shingami, but she was _not_ helpless.

"Hey you there, girl! What are you doing?" one of the drivers shouted. "Get out of the road!"

She ignored him, the tip of her finger turning red. The hollow cocked its head, raising its razor sharp appendages.

"Girl! I'm talking to—" There was the sound of running footsteps.

A bright red beam of energy, invisible to the humans, shot from her fingertips, racing toward the hollow. An explosion, a roar of pain and anger.

'Crap.' She thought, 'I missed.'

Instead of hitting the mask, her shot went wide ripping apart two of the creature's scissor-like appendages. The attack was still to new for her to be wielded with the accuracy that she needed. And did she ever need that extra precision, especially with all these oblivious bystanders surrounding her.

While She had not hit the ghost boy, my blast had hit the light pole his chain had gotten wrapped around, effectively cutting it down. He was screaming in agony as the ends began to eat themselves. Shit, shit, shit. Where were the shingami when you needed them?

Right, fighting a war. Typical excuses.

A firm hand latched on to her shoulder, and she instinctively ripped out of its grip. She caught a flash of blue-grey uniform out of the corner of her eye. A police officer.

"You need to get out of the road miss. You are holding up traffic."

There would be more serious problems than bad traffic if he didn't get out of the way. Sometimes she curse the normal humans and their inability to see spirits._ If he only knew_.

She grit her teeth, weaving around the immobile cars. A few drivers honked, yelling at her to get out of the way. Stupid mist must be making them think _she_ was the cause of the pile up not some raving monster trying to eat their souls. No, that would be too easy.

The hollow screeched, razor sharp appendages swiping at her head. She ducked; black hair fell around her shoes. Looked like she would need another haircut when this was all through. Yuzu would be thrilled. A new hairstyle for a new lifestyle.

Her brother wouldn't be, but he was too busy to notice who was guarding his hometown in his absence.

She rolled around the far side, using the yellow taxi as a shield. She aimed again.

Hadn't she always wanted to be a hero? Wasn't that her dream? She couldn't remember. Wouldn't it have been nice though to be given a choice? Well, she technically had a choice: pretend you don't see anything, pretend you don't see ghosts or monsters with holes in their chest or boys with white hair, pretend you can't actually do something about it, play "I can't see you, you can't see me" the rest of her life, pretend she wasn't actually being targeted, that her family wasn't being targeted. But then, she was never any good at pretending.

Cars honking, people screaming at her to move, a police officer moving towards her, this wasn't the way she imagined it. Her hair was shorter, her friendships were wavering, grades were slipping and skipping class was becoming more regular, but she didn't have to pretend. She could _see_, and she knew exactly who she was and what she was supposed to do.

Her hands were steady, red light burning at her fingertips.

Boom.

Perfect shot.

The next day, the newspaper's headline would be about how terrorist planted a bomb in the Kuara Bank. The explosion could be seen from miles away, and many residents would claim they felt the resulting terrors throughout the city. The bomb was set to go off during the middle of rush hour, and the casualties and injuries would have been much higher if it hadn't been for a young girl holding up traffic.

Coincidental hero? She would take it. After all, it was the closest any normal being had come to finding out the truth.

She dug through the rubble, looking for the soul that had been so unfortunate to draw the hollow's attention. She found him next to the light post, relatively unharmed, but still shaking from the experience.

He clutched his chain helplessly, sagging in pain.

"Come on," she urged, "let's go get you some help." The poor soul was still under shock, and let her drag him away.

The humans were screaming, but now for a different reason. Part of her wanted to go back and help, after all she was at least in part responsible, but she couldn't afford to draw any more attention to herself. The police officer would undoubtedly remember her, and that was bad enough.

It was time to pay a visit to Mr. Hat and Clogs. He would know what to do.

…..

"You're staring again."

He blinked, surprised. So he had.

"It's not every day I see a human take on a menos grande." True, so very true, but he really had been wondering about the skirt. Since when did Karin wear skirts? Since when did Karin even _own_ a skirt?

She shrugged, stuffing her hands in her pockets. She was half tempted to say 'I'm a Kurosaki, it runs in the family,' but she didn't want to be compared to her brother, especially now of all times. Especially by him.

Instead she said, "So are you going to tell me where you've been the past few months?"

He fiddled with his phone. "Nowhere important."

"Ah, so we've reverted back to being all secretive and mysterious."

"Knock it off Kurosaki."

"And back to surnames too. I told you its _Karin_."

"You're the only Kurosaki here." He pointed out.

"Ka-rin." She insisted.

Why was he being so cold now, so stubborn? Had something happened?

"Fine." He bit out. "_Ka-rin_."

Her frown eased slightly. It was always like pulling teeth with this guy.

"How did you do it?" He asked.

"Hmm?"

"Kill the hollow," he clarified.

"I sweet talked it into submission, convinced it that it should be my new pet, then brought it home on a leash so Yuzu could cover it in frilly lace and pink bows." Her lips twitched, trying not to smile.

He didn't look even remotely convinced, but raised a single white eyebrow at her explanation. "Your _pet_?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course the only other explanation, highly unreasonable though it is, is that I somehow managed to magically break that stupid frog mask which we all know I can't do since I'm just a human."

She didn't mean for it to come off sounding bitter, but it did just the same. Maybe it was all that resentment from being kicked off the soccer team that was finally rearing its ugly head.

"Karin, it was a _menos grande_."

"What's that a fancy term for big wuss?"

He shook his head exasperated, and she wondered if it was a bad thing that she was getting this much entertainment at the expense of his own frustration. It was almost… cute.

"You really want to know?" She egged him. She was suddenly standing much closer to him than he was comfortable with, a mysterious smile on her face. Reaching up, she tapped his nose with her index finger.

"Tag!" She sang, zipping away.

He blinked, caught off guard for the second time that day, and losing precious seconds that could have been spent catching the wayward teen.

'_When did she learn shunpo?'_ He took off after her, zooming across rooftops at high speed. _'_How_ did she learn shunpo?'_

She laughed up ahead, a blur of black hair. "Can't catch meeeeeee!"

When he filled out a mission report later, he would mention how Kurosaki killed the menos grande, taking advantage of its slow speed (do to its immense bulk) to out maneuver it in a tight urban area. He wouldn't mention _which_ Kurosaki of course, and left the finishing blow up to interpretation. The higher ups would just assume Ichigo pressed his advantage with his usual forceful style and nothing more needed to be said.

Her human body served as a barrier for hiding her spiritual pressure, add that to her natural control, and she was practically undetectable. But he couldn't keep her secrete forever. Not when she was showing off like this. It was only a matter of time before someone else noticed and reported the strange hollow-fighting human.

When he caught her, he would have to give her a stern talking to.

He was closing in on his target, narrowing the gap.

She stopped, and he almost blew past her. Sneaky, but then he spotted the other sister. The twins linked arms, smiling and laughing as they walked home. Yuzu didn't seem to notice the white haired soul reaper crouching on the fence while Karin shot him a warning glare. Without a gigai, the fair-haired sibling could not see or hear him, but she would notice her sister talking at to herself or staring off into space.

Toshiro's cell phone blinked. It was just as well.

Karin twitched but kept walking. "Hey, let's take the longer route back today. It's so nice out."

Her twin readily agreed, and the two crossed the street, out of the way of the impending battle.

Hitsuguya drew his sword, flash stepping towards his newest adversary.

This hollow had a peculiar appearance. If it wasn't for the way it was crouching down, its body curved like a cat ready to pounce, it would have passed as… human. It's mask was carved in a laughing expression, a too bid smile that reminded the tenth captain of a clown.

"Ah, little dragon-kun, so we meet." The thing rolled its head from side to side in a disturbing, crazed manner, demonic yellow eyes flashing in excitement. "Perhaps you can teach me that which is most magnificent." It purred. "Hungry. Hungry. Always hungry."

Ice blue eyes narrowed. "Sit atop the frozen heavens…"

The hollow lunged, all jagged teeth and sharp, curved claws. An icy dragon exploded from the end of his sword as he slashed. It raced forward, mouth open in a furious roar, red eyes intent upon the hollow.

And was swallowed whole.

"Hungry. _Hungry_." The beast chanted, taking a moment to regroup. Its eyes swiveled back the previous target, a boy wearing a stunned expression. "_More!_"

It launched at the boy, snarling when he dodged. "Hungry. _Mine!_"

He dodged again, spinning to the left.

"Claws and _teeth_. Dig in with claws and teeth. Hold it still." The hollow was shaking, roaring, lolling its head to the side as his jaws smashed together. "Fill the hungry. Eat for fill."

A crack in the mask, a tiny chink, a flicker of white falling to the ground.

The boy had no time to think once again on the move. It was no doubt one of the strangest hollows he had ever encountered. It was not necessarily powerful in the same way the arrancar were powerful, but its strange ability was indeed troubling.

What a perplexing case. It expressed the unstable, mindless hunger of the lesser, weaker hollows, but exhibited more agility and fighting prowess than could be explained by a lower class species. A transition state perhaps? A mutant?

It sprang towards him again, and he sidestepped, raising his sword. Time for a different approach.

Metal claws scratching on his blade. He winced as though he himself had been wounded, a dragon's angry roar in his ear. _Finish him_. The crack on the mask widened.

It was surprisingly strong, pushing the boy back against the pavement, but the experienced captain did not seemed alarmed, his face hardly flickering. A sickle dangled from the end of a chain, bumping against his knee. The hand that had previously possessed it was raised, glowing lightly, a kido spell.

"Hado number sixty-three—"

It bit him. Razor teeth sawed through skin, red tongue lapping up the blood, crazed yellow eyes baring into his.

He stuttered. "Sōren Sōkatsui" (Twin Lotus Blue Fire, Crash Down)

The air exploded in white light. The hollow vaporized in an instant, the remaining shreds dissolved in unholy golden sparkles, vanishing into the sky.

His arm throbbed fiercely as he sheathed his blade. When his left hand moved, already glowing the light blue of a healing spell, he froze, arm still raised, stunned.

While it wasn't entirely intact and the edges were cracked and frayed, still biting on his arm was the hollow mask, lips still turned upright in eternal laughter.

**Eight weeks before deadline**

A slight buzz in the back of her mind, shingami, she could feel them. Three.

The rest of the class didn't so much as twitch, not even the few who were more spiritually aware. Instead they were busily scratching down the equation Mrs. Bard had put on the board, oblivious to the obvious invasion of their town.

Perhaps even she would not have picked up on that suppressed spirit pressure had she not been so intimately familiar with them, had she not spent hours analyzing their specific patterns, the ebb and weave of their spiritual flow.

She doubted her fool brother would have even noticed, but then again he struggled to locate any spiritual pressure that was anything short of his own (nothing else would break through that block head's barrier).

Idiot brother.

She tapped her pencil against the side of her leg, willing the clock's hand's forward. Someone had to investigate the presence of the soul reapers in the town even if that someone had to be late for soccer practice. Again.

Gawd. Of course this was the one day she chose to wear a skirt. Stupid idiot father dismantled the washing machine two days ago and had yet to reassemble it into some sort of working order. As she had stubbornly refused to give in to the madness she had the choice either to wash everything painfully by hand, go naked, or wear a skirt. Admittedly going naked had some sort of appeal to it, but she saw no reason to upset the dress code more than she already did. Plus Yuzu would probably keel over and die if she did that, and she _really_ didn't want to put up with her father's rant on her "rebellious" nature.

Was there time to change into her soccer shorts? Maybe, but then it would be harder to make an excuse to the boys. She could always go the "womanly changes" route, that always shut them up, but the excuse was starting to get old even to her ears.

She might be able to pull off a 'left my practice jersey a home' or 'I had to walk Yuzu home because she forgot her key' excuse.

Or she could just say that her brother was home.

Everyone assumed he was some sort of vigilante, and never asked her questions about what he was up to or why he suddenly returned out of the blue. Half the team was terrified of him. It didn't help his image that Karin often came back with minor cuts and bruises from these "visits," and they let her go, albeit reluctantly, when she implied that it would be worse for everyone if they tried to keep her.

Everyone expected her to fall into the same pattern, to follow her brother's shoes: high school dropout, working odd end jobs, disappearing for months at a time.

Never. Never ever would she be like him.

He was impulsive whereas she looked before she leaped. His spiritual pressure was wild and uncontrollable, monstrously huge, and leaking _everywhere_. She was not so big, not so strong; her supply was not so bottomless.

Compared to his blaze, she was a mere candle. But what she lacked in raw, brute strength, she more than made up for in her control, in her tactics, in speed. Maneuvering a battlefield to her advantage was practically second nature. Hyper aware of her surroundings, it was that same third eye that helped her excel on the soccer field. It was a necessity, she didn't have her brother's ability to crash through solid buildings or take twenty hits before landing the final blow. She had to be more careful, more conservative. She didn't have time for flashy moves—there were far too many active hollows for that nonsense—she had to plan on the fly, strategize to give her the most bang for her buck, and still have enough energy left over to run those extra laps at soccer practice for being late (again).

Unlike her brother, she was not known to be a troublemaker. She made high marks in all her classes and was well behaved so long as no mentioned she was wearing a skirt. When the bruises started appearing, the teachers started asking questions, personal, private questions. At first, she dismissed it, hiding behind her soccer being a contact sport excuse, but when the coach got involved and the child services representative showed up on her doorstep… well, it became apparent that she needed to step up her game.

The bell rang, and the Kurosaki girl sighed in relief. Finally.

Shoving her notebook in her bag, she practically flew out the door. Rather than her usual route to the locker room, she made a sharp left, darting for the main entrance.

"Oi! Kurosaki!"

She bit back a groan. She had been so close. She spun on her heal, facing her pursuer directly. "Hey Shinji."

Her teammate jogged up to her. "Where are you going?"

She rubbed the back of her neck looking sheepish. "My old man forgot to do laundry yesterday so he said he would do it today, but I have to run home to get it."

It was the partial truth at least. Playing in a moderately smelly jersey had never stopped her before, but what with the clothes cleaning device out of commission (obvious given her current appearance in a skirt).

Obito, their goalie, joined them. "Ne Kurosaki, are you skipping again?"

"Looks like it," responded Shinji before she could respond.

Ugh, that buzzing again, they were moving. She had to leave now or she would never catch up.

Shinji folded his arms across his chest. "We've put up with your excuses for a long time."

The buzzing continued, and she felt trapped, her attention divided between the two forces, friends and responsibility. Not being able to give her full attention to either without loosing the other was driving her nuts.

Jiro, Kenji, and Maro, the team captain, joined the pack, blocking her exit.

But the shinigami were still moving, farther and farther, barely within her radar.

Maro spoke for the team. "I hate to say it, Kurosaki, but you're out."

She blinked, losing track of the soul reapers. "What?"

The boys avoided meeting her gaze. "You're joking right?"

Again, it was Maro who spoke. "It's not fair to the other guys who actually show up to practice." He scuffed his shoe along the tile floor. "We've been really patient, but we can't play this game anymore."

Her eyes were blank and unbelieving. 'This is not happening. This is not happening.'

"Turn in your jersey tomorrow at coach's office." They were backing up, still not meeting her eye. Why wouldn't they look at her?

Didn't they understand? She was trying _so hard_. She wanted this more than anything. She was the one who pushed and pushed to join the team. She was the one who endured a whole year of being benched despite being much better than the starters, who did not complain at their obvious resentment. She was the one who had to _earn_ every second on the field, who dragged her way to the top of the starting order because she had every right to be there. She fought and fought every hurtle, every obstacle, disproving their belief that girls had no place on the field, shutting up the whiners by proving her skill, her mastery of everything involving the checkered ball.

For the first time in years, Karin felt like crying, like stamping her feet, like shouting at their retreating backs. But instead she just stared, statue frozen.

She never asked to see ghosts; she had pretended for years that they didn't exist. She had tried to ignore the screams of those being chased, being _eaten_ by monsters with white faces, struggling to keep a straight face in class.

But one day she snapped. One day she realized she could prevent those screams, could fight those masked freaks using the same skills that made her so formidable on the soccer field.

And she cared. She really did. Maybe that was the problem, that she cared too much, about soccer, about her friends, about protecting Yuzu and the ghost people and her crazy brother.

She wanted everything from school to quiet nights to safe monster-free streets. All of it. And she had been trying to hard to make it work that none of it was working at all.

She didn't know how long she stood there, minutes, hours. It didn't seem to matter.

"Well," she sighed, adjusting the strap on her backpack. "That's just one less thing."

"Karin." Yuzu stood a few feet away, a look of deep concern etched into her soft features.

Karin hated to make her sister worry, hated that uncertain, worried expression. She mentally kicked herself for the slip up, slapping a silly grin on her face. "Eh Yuzu, I just remembered that I left my jersey at home, and I was worried I'd be late to practice."

"Oh." She fiddled with the stings of her apron, and I could see she was torn between wanting to walk me home and going to her cooking club.

It was our unspoken rule that they would always walk home together. It's why Yuzu even joined those frilly homemakers clubs like sewing and cooking so she didn't have to wait around until soccer practice was over.

"Ah! I better run or I'll be late! I'll see you after your club meeting!" called Karin from over her shoulder. She ran, leaving no room for her sibling to catch up.

She ran and ran and ran.

She was numb, not feeling anything, not the brush of wind, not the slam of sneakers on hot pavement, not pain, just cold, empty nothing.

She stopped at the bridge panting hard. This was the farthest she had ever ran from home, the farthest she had ever come on foot.

It would be so easy, to cross that bridge, to keep going, to never look back. Ichi-nii did it so why couldn't she?

Why did she have to be so different? Why did she have to be the one to stay? Pops and Yuzu needed both of them so why did he get to leave? Leave her to clean up this mess? Why did she have to be the responsible one, protecting Karkura, protecting the remains of her family? Why couldn't she be selfish for once?

The buzz again, angrier this time, louder, a hollow, in a neighborhood back the way she came.

She didn't move.

Why couldn't she leave? One step on that bridge is all it would take, the first of many. Why did she have to care?

Why couldn't she be normal?

She didn't want to be the hero—that was supposed to be her brother's job—but if he wasn't up to it someone else had to step in.

She closed her eyes in resignation turning her back to the bridge. Maybe some other time.

…..

He hated this place. Hated that it had to come to this.

"Doctor" Mauri was a pain to be sure, but the fact that he, a captain in his own right, had come seeing the doc's help (anyone's help for that matter) regarding a very personal, very private issue, was almost too much for him to bear. He almost turned around. Given time, he could work it out himself—a much more preferable option given his derision for the man and the amount of pride at stake—but he didn't have time. Not enough of it anyways.

Matsumoto would cover for him. She trusted his decision, and no one else had to know.

Nemu saved him the trouble of knocking. Saved him the trouble of standing outside, looking stupid, as he tried to make up his mind.

If he saw any other option, he wouldn't be here.

It's just a test, he reminded himself. Just a test.

Nemu pushed a button on the device around her wrist. "Mauri-sama, Hitsugaya-taicho is here."

A tiny screen lit up, displaying the image of the 12th division captain. The white haired boy suppressed the urge to shudder. As a general policy he tried to keep his distance from the 11th and 12th division. The 11th because they were just a little to eager to get into a fight with anything that breathed (much less presented a challenge), and the 12th he avoided because of Mauri.

It was not that he didn't respect the 12th division captain. In fact, Hitsugaya had a very healthy respect for the man, and had absolutely no desire to ever interact with him or any of his experiments beyond the professional level required.

"Bring him to the back room, and make sure he is, ah comfortable."

Nemu nodded robotically, and the screen flashed black. Without a word, she began to lead in further into the lab.

Doors lined the dimly lit hallway. Nails scrapping against metal behind one such portal, the sound of dripping liquid from another, and some sort of purple puss oozed from underneath a door farther down. The boy was extra precautious to avoid this one even if it did bring him marginally closer to a door labeled "Toxic Disposal Unit."

Finally, the lieutenant opened the second to last door on the left. He followed her inside.

It reminded him of the Kurosaki's clinic, clean and sterile, stiff white sheets pulled over an examination table.

"Have a seat."

The voice was different, softly worded rather than demanded, but the command was familiar and he obeyed without question.

How many times had he sat on an identical looking table in the human world? How many times had he had to endure that stinging alcohol swabs or being bandaged up like a mummy? Even though he told her that he was _fine_, that shingami healed faster than normal humans, and that really this was all ridiculous; it was that glare, that defiant tilt in her chin, and that soft, "You're hurt" as she gently wrapped a roll of gauze around his arm.

Familiar room, request, or otherwise, he still jumped a foot in the air the instant he spotted the needle.

Nemu tilted her head, perplexed by the boy-captain's reaction. "Mayuri-taicho said I am to make you comfortable."

Emerald eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you misunderstood my purpose for coming here."

The door reopened with an ominous click as the captain of the 12th division joined them in the small, whitewashed room.

"My apologies. She was only following standard procedure." Now there was a smile that didn't even pretend to be friendly. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company Taicho?"

He should leave. There were other ways to go about it. After all Urahara knew his way around a lab even if his primary focus was presently diverted. No, he couldn't do that. He already owed him enough favors already.

Hitsugaya held out his hand, regretting his decision already. He focused on the particles of water in the air as they zoomed about the room, pulling them towards him. Particle by particle, they appeared in his hand, adding to the frozen mass.

His eyes never strayed from the other two beings in the room, especially the one with the needle. Neither appeared too impressed, already well versed in his abilities.

"My reiatsu," he stated as the size of the levitating, white orb grew, "has changed."

When it reached about as big a baseball, a crack appeared, spreading across the smooth surface. Perhaps the others did not notice, but being so intimately aware of his element as he was, he could feel it, like a crevice upon his very soul.

Without warning, the sphere burst into flame, hissing and snapping at all the other air-breathers present, an explosion, an eruption of light.

The youngest captain in six centuries hardened his expression. To the stunned scientist and his female creation, he simply asked, "Why?"

**Eight Days before deadline**

"Are you in?"

Hard grey eyes were focused intently on the boy in question. Their owner held her back straight, a show of how she was still taller than her red-haired companion, still considered herself to be his better.

The teen with the unruly amber locks heaved a sigh. "Do I have a choice?"

"You still owe me for that date with Yuzu," the girl reminded, hands automatically resting on her hips.

The boy sneered unpleasantly. "It doesn't count as a date if she didn't even know she was on one."

"It's not my fault you suck in the romance department Jinta. The fact still remains that you owe me."

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time."

"So are you in?" She reiterated.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm in." The red head stretched his stick-like appendages, making a show of looking around the abandoned classroom. "So wait is it just the two of us?"

"We can handle it."

"Aw man!" the boy complained, "It's going to suck putting up all those streamers and gas bombs if there's only two of us."

"We have a week."

"Ugh, there's no way we are going to able to pull this off in a week!"

The girl cracked her knuckles threateningly, a dangerous, black aura surrounding her. "What's that Jinta? You want to rig the cafeteria by yourself? To prove your manhood?"

"Eh, um, I…"

That was one way to render a guy speechless.

The girl threw a roll of duck tape aimed her companion's head with a speed no human should have been able to manage. "Well then you better get started." She said in that same deadly tone, a maniacal gleam in her eye.

The boy quickly darted out the door, arms loaded with the required "surprise" materials, eager to escape the vicinity before she could throw anything else at him.

…..

The most senior shinigami eyed the package curiously.

It was a small box. A box of intricate design. It had been crafted from ebony, the edges lined with copper. Delicate panels, crafted with the upmost care, had been coated in black lacquer, both to dull the colors of the box's components and to enhance the mirror finish. It had been crafted and assembled with masterful skill and polished with loving care.

The captain of division one wondered at the origins of the box, never before had he seen something of such intricate delicacy, such profound design and mastery of craft. Where had it come from?

He cast a deliberate glance at the so-called discover of such a thing, a soul nearly as ancient as he himself.

The woman smiled, wrinkles curtaining her eyes. She was dressed in simple brown robes of undeterminable origin that appeared to sag on her stooped shoulders. She gestured with a pruny hand.

"Look closely, General. It is not as it fist seems."

His gaze returned to the box, studying it carefully.

Abruptly, the image shifted, dark wood sliding into darker planes. At first, it appeared as though shadows danced across the polished surface, but as the details grew, the image turned gruesome. Appalling images swept across the box's faces, people, souls, bound by hooks and blades, enwrapped in chains, more defined by blood and agony than by faces. Bare flesh torn open, pink and pulsating, mouths wide with silent screams.

Then, it was gone. A simple black box sitting innocently on his desk. The careful shine remained the same as before, but the beauty had been lost. The captain sat back in his seat, stomach churning uncomfortably, deeply disturbed.

"What is that _thing_?" A man of few words, he had always been blunt.

The ancient soul across from him was still smiling. "Ah, my dear General, this is Pandora's box."

Beady eyes grew dark. "Centuries ago, the box was opened by a little girl," She placed a hand on her chest as if in pain. "foolish enough to think it would bring the end of death."

"As a soul of light, the box easily opened at her touch, and, unwittingly, she released the dark plague upon the world. Monsters, soul eaters, and worse, black, poisons hearts.

"Realizing her mistake, she tried to close the box, but alas, such a thing can only be closed by he that wields a demon's hand in the heart of the dark land itself. She was not he.

"She tried to destroy the box. Failed. Tried to lose the box. Failed. She became its keeper, its unwilling guard. She kept it safe, waiting for he with the demons hand to relieve her of her burden, and after all this time, the box finally calls for another's hand. It brought its keeper here. It brought me to you."

A bushy white eyebrow rose, the only indication of surprise. "It seeks me?"

"Don't be foolish. The hand is not yours or the call would have come centuries sooner. No, it is one of your kind, one of your like, a soul much younger than thine."

"A new recruit perhaps?"

The old woman rewrapped the box delicately. "Neither young nor old, neither strong nor weak. Not of power, not of pride. Young but not foolish, old but not wise.

"Not a fresh soul, no, not new, but a _changed_ soul. Willing spirit, poisoned hand, ugly purpose, good man."

There was a knock on the door, three concise raps. The two ancient spirits did not move.

"Even now destiny seeks him." The old woman crooned.

The shinigami captain eyed the door curiously, wondering on the identity of the shadow. "Enter," he called, watching the bamboo frame slide open.

A head of white hair bowed respectively. "Yamamoto-san," Teal eyes flickered over to the woman hovering near his desk. "Am I interrupting?"

'Ah,' thought the seated shinigami, 'the prodigy. Unexpected, but not surprising.'

The woman beside him beckoned, her cold smile unwavering. "Join us young captain."

The new arrival nodded politely, but as he entered the room, his steps were wary, his posture guarded.

The soul reaper behind the desk watched him, studying the young captain with new eyes. His soul type was rare, appearing only once every few century or so, and, if the woman were to be believed, the loss of this captain would inevitably be a permanent one.

When the first division captain had first seen the boy and witnessed his potential, he knew a great destiny lay before him. At the time, it appeared as though he had finally found his successor, young, inexperienced, but could only improve with time. He had watched the young soul grow with the same critical eye he passed over all his shinigami and was not disappointed.

Until now.

"What brings you here this evening Captain Hitsuguya?"

Only years of practice kept the boy's discomfort from showing. He glanced at the woman again, uncomfortable with her crow-like smile and not pleased that he had to make such a request in front of her.

"With permission, I would like to take a week off my duties at the tenth division. There is training Hyorinmaru would have me do."

"Indeed," replied the general, subtly eyeing the woman at his left. "I would grant your request after you listen to this woman speak. I believe she has a mission pertaining to you upon your return."

The boy nodded in acquiescence.

Under piles of wrinkles and sagging flesh, a smile turned malicious and the colors of the room darkened. "Ah, little dragon-sama. Did you know that in the ancient days man could not tell if dragons were heavenly guardians, sent by the angels, or demonic beasts given wings." She picked up the box tenderly with motherly care. "Perhaps they are a bit of both ne? What do you think?"

**Eight Hours before deadline**

Karin tapped her pencil against her desk.

After her stunt in the cafeteria, the boys had finally stopped avoiding her. She wasn't sure if she was excited to have them finally come around or depressed that all it really took was a good "magic" show. Figures.

And what did she get for her troubles? Detention and a phone call to her dad. Lovely.

…..

He didn't want to talk to them. He didn't want to talk to anybody. Right now he really just needed to me alone, a quiet place to think. He wasn't interested in a big dramatic goodbye.

"Aren't you a little old to play on the swing set?"

He looked up from his musings, gaze landing on the fukitaicho that was nearly impossible to miss with his blood red hair.

"Renji."

Said shingami helped himself to the swing next to the tenth captain. The seat was much too small for his broad frame as he awkwardly settled in. Had it been any other time, Hitsuguya would have done more that simply raise and eybrow. Had it been any other time, he would have initiated a verbal spar as to who _exactly_ was being the most childish as the fukitaicho tested out the strength of the chains and the extent of what they could handle when it came to "swinging" or whatever it was he was doing. Had it been any other time, the leader of the tenth division, youngest captain in eleven centuries, would have simply walked away, embarrassed to be associated with such... peculiar antics.

But he said nothing. He hardly even moved. Didn't even blink when his companion attempted a twisting somersault handstand—and failed miserably.

In a few hours he would be dying. No, he would be dead. That's all there was to it.

"You know," Renji said as he tried to disentangle himself from the loops of chains, "you don't _have_ to go through with it. I know everyone expects you to, but it's still your choice and all."

It didn't matter. The way his reiatsu was changing lately, even Matsumoto had noticed. He might as well put a use to it.

But he would have done it anyways even if they hadn't asked.

The silence stretched on between the two companions, and they both knew what it meant. He wouldn't change his answer, but then, Renji hardly expected him to. It was funny how much he was hoping he would. He knew how stubborn the white haired taicho could be, especially when it came to protecting the people he cared about, but for him, personally, he never wanted it to happen this way. He understood how the sacrifice of one could do so much for so many, but he never wanted the one to have to do that in the first place. Never wanted it to be necessary.

The red head understood—he knew what his decision would be had their roles been reversed—but he knew he wouldn't be the only one supporting the tenth captain if he changed his mind. Far from it.

Renji said nothing of this, respecting the other's decision.

He was just here as backup, to seal the portal on the side of the human world once the taicho had passed through, to make sure nothing happened to him between now and then. It wasn't his job to interfere.

Matsumoto was trying, taking the responsibility personally, raising as much hell and interference as she could.

It wasn't working as she had hoped. It was only pushing her taicho farther away.

So Renji didn't try. If the captain's mind was made up, then so be it. He knew what he was getting into. Now was the time for quiet contemplation, for peace, for understanding, for goodbyes. It was not Renji's place to stop him.

Just to remind him that he could stop himself, that he was not alone or didn't have to be.

**Eight Minutes before deadline**

Karin looked up as the night sky started to glow with energy. From every house, every sleeping soul, from windows and balconies, from office buildings and dorm rooms, from apartment complexes, from the man blearily walking his dog, from the souls who stood quietly in the cemetery, from her sister's heart and from her own, the white strings that stretched forward, stretching on to a different plane of existence, they glowed, humming softly in the night air.

In all the years that she had seen the different threads that connected people, never had she seen anything like this. There were so many of them coming from all across the city, maybe even the towns beyond, coming from all different directions. Thin white ribbons stretching across the sky.

Her heart ached as she realized what they were for. If black was the color of enemies, hatred, repulsion and violence, then white, pure, beautiful white like that, it must mean…

The girl's hands trembled. He's going to do it. He's really going to do it.

She would not cry. She swore she would not cry. Not now, especially not now.

Damn it, wasn't he supposed to be better than this? Wasn't she?

She cursed as yet another hollow faded into the human plane. Running after that grey-brown thread she wondered when her feet became so loud.

…..

He wondered how something so small could be so heavy.

The weaker hollows hardly paid him any attention; one sniff of his demonic reiatsu and they left him about his business, believing him to be a fellow servant of the dark kingdom. The boy was cautious though, constantly scanning his surroundings. The stronger warriors, the arrancar would recognize him, sealed shingami reiatsu or not. It would be trouble if they found him too soon.

Planting the device was easy enough. It was the sealing that caused so much trouble.

The design for the seal array was beautiful, and he almost wished he had gone into sealing instead of swordplay. It certainly would have been a simpler, more peaceful lifestyle. After he got control of his monstrous reiatsu, he could have just returned home and taken up that apprenticeship in sealing under Master Gatsu.

But he swore to protect Momo, his sister, wanted to protect his grandmother, his friends, his precious people.

He watched his classmates in the academy, measured their progress, estimated their potential. As he breezed through the coursework, easily mastering everything they offered from swordplay to kido, he worried for them. They weren't going to be strong enough to purge the world of hollows, maybe the smaller species, but a menos grande was way out of their league. They couldn't protect Momo or his grandma, could hardly even defend themselves.

His superiors called him a protégé, but they failed to understand what made him so. Yes, he had a natural affinity for kido, and yes, he already knew his sword's name. They saw it as inborn talent, impressive despite his soul's young age.

They didn't see how hard he worked to earn every measly skill. Kido was the easiest for him as all he really needed was the basic theory behind the spells to get him started. After that it was like following a formula, each spell only a slight variation from the other.

His control though, it was pathetic really. How many hours had he spent meditating in his room? Not many students knew, but he initially had to have wards placed on his room to keep the leaking reiatsu from freezing them to death. When they applauded his control, how easily he was able to suppress his spiritual pressure, how precise his uses of it were, the teachers shared a knowing look. How much more did he have to work until he finally, _finally_ was at a state where he didn't have to worry about accidentally killing someone? Diving deep into his subconscious, chasing his wild reiatsu until it was tame and calm, obeying his will with the precision he demanded?

Swordplay did not come easy either. In fact on the first day of training, he had nearly impaled himself due to his clumsy footwork, meanwhile his sensei tried his hardest not to laugh.

He supposed one of the reasons he improved so rapidly was due to the long trips into the depths of his mind. First it was to wrap a handle around the massive spiritual pressure, but then, when control came more easily, it was to talk to the dragon.

The sword master who lectured in the dojo witnessed firsthand the peculiar transformation in the boy's fighting style. His blade had already taken on a specific design, but the boy had yet to release his shikai. In addition, he had taken up a different style than that which they taught at the academy, indicating that he either had outside assistance or was already learning from his sword. When the teacher inquired about the boy's circumstances, he received a cryptic answer.

The boy wanted to master the sword at the most basic level, completely and totally, before moving on. He understood that shikai and bankai increased a shingami's abilities, but what was the use if he could not hold his own in a swordfight.

He was a quick learner, the teacher noted, able to put theoretical concepts to practical use. It helped that he was already quick on his feet, no doubt the result of living in the Rukongai where such evading thugs and outrunning street vendors was just a part of everyday life.

The boy was aware of his disadvantages such as sheer strength but was also certain about his abilities, his speed. More often than not, he had been able to beat stronger sparing partners simply by outmaneuvering them.

Then when the class moved outdoors, a more realistic scene for fights, it was like opening a door for him, allowing him to exceed using his greatest weapon: tactics.

But it was still strange, his sensei thought, how quickly he developed. It was like he was getting five times the fighting experience as everyone else in the class, growing in leaps and bounds. Though he inquired the other staff, it appeared as though no one else was teaching the boy, privately or otherwise. A true protégé indeed.

What pretty thoughts, silly, blind opinions. If they only knew.

But the boy didn't dwell on the past now, completely engrossed in his task. Swirls of black ink patterned the rocky floor, spiraling out and away from the black box. He traced the characters from memory, cautious that they were just so. Sealing was messy work; one wrong move and boom, game over.

He stood up, task complete, whipping his blackened hands against his white haori. He paused, observing his masterpiece with a critical eye.

It seemed as though his work had drawn a crown. A curious horde of lower hollows gathered nearby, giving the boy enough berth to work yet not so far off that they could not observe. Never before had they seen anything so complex.

The boy was a powerful one; they could feel his pulsing demonic energy from a good distance away. Instinct said they were not strong enough to kill him, at least not without overwhelming forces, and the survivor attribute told them not to try. He had no mask, and they had learned to be wary of those who walked without it.

They lingered though, half hoping a stronger opponent would come by and weaken him. Consuming his remains would add his power to their own, perhaps enough to remove their own masks, maybe even strong enough to going the legions of chaos and become a numero.

Several left for the human plane, unable to contain their desires to feed. Better to risk encountering the shingami than go up against one of the mask-less.

The stronger ones remained, having greater power over their hunger. But for now they watched, golden eyes fixed on his bent frame.

**Eight Seconds before deadline**

Damn it. God f-ing Damn. There was no time.

…..

He closed his eyes feeling the blood trickling down his chin. It didn't matter anymore.

"Oi! Shinigami! Ain't ya gonna fight back?"

Turquoise eyes stared back into the hungry gold, flashing with an unidentifiable emotion. The other hollows backed up slightly, feeling a wave of spiritual energy wash over them.

'_Seven… Six…'_

…

**A/N:** I will be on vacation for the next week or so with questionable internet connection. If I can update I will, if not then please be patient. Hopefully you will be getting a lovely email notification next Friday if all goes in accordance to the prophecy.

Like it? Love it? Helpful criticism? Please leave a review.

Thanks for being my inspiration!


	3. Four

**Author's Notes**: First and foremost, a most heartfelt thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I worked really hard to finish the chapter quickly, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as the last.

Standard disclaimers still apply.

**Four Centuries before deadline**

The first soul was back in the medium, resting. Many of the ties from its previous existence had been burned and shredded. It shuddered painfully. How had it rushed so foolishly so recklessly into the world of the living? Such a cruel awful place.

Another soul drifted by, offering a thread. The first orb shuddered again, refusing. No more ties. That had been a mistake.

The other soul hummed in pity, not approaching the injured orb but not leaving it either. It offered its thread again, no, insisted. Warm, healing, a promise it offered.

Not a blue string and not a green or red. A strange color.

This time it accepted the offer, tentatively taking the other soul's hand, and the pair ascended, rising up, up, up, joining the kingdom of the dead.

**Four Years before deadline**

For as long as she could remember, she could see the strings, the treads that bound two people together.

Around her heart, the colors were familiar. Three threads of sky blue, two of which trailed off towards different rooms, one to her sister's bedroom, one to her fathers. The third trailed off somewhere in the distance, fading in visibility as it went. It was her brother's thread, off somewhere where she couldn't see.

There had been another blue sting, but it had been cut years ago, the edges frayed and worn. Her mother's. She never touched that one.

Green threads for her friends, spreading out in all different directions. Hiro and Maro and Shinji among the others. They weren't as strong as they used to be, the cords not as thick, but they had not vanished or left her behind.

Then there were the ugly grey-brown threads, colors of death and decay. Those led to hollows. She had always assumed it was reserved for monsters such as that, the relationship between hunter and prey, killer and victim. Never had she been more surprised when she saw it on another human being.

She was not sure what the cords were exactly, threads of fate that bound different souls together. Purple for companionship, pink for young couples, maroon for those who were married. Oranges for crushes and blushes, yellows for those who flirted with the boundary between friendship and more.

Black was for enemies. She had a few of those too, but most of them tied back to girls at school, the preps, the cheerleaders, the perfect wannabe's. The girl did not touch these strings either.

Then there was the last thread, a strange golden color. It had actually been the first thread she had seen, back when her spiritual awareness was still growing and the threads were harder to discern.

It always filled her with warmth when she touched it. It felt like sunshine and completion and wholeness.

She wandered what it could mean. She very rarely saw the gold threads on anyone else, not on her family and not on friends. Sometimes she would pass strangers and would see it on them, a gold thread trailing back behind them, but they were almost always alone, never with the person the thread connected them to.

Once she saw it on an older classman and inquired about through her network of friends. Apparently, he was a bit of a loner. Oh he had friends, she could clearly see the dark green threads, but despite his good looks and charming personality, his dating record was severely lacking. Sure, some girl's trailed after him, orange threads tied to their chest, but he hardly glanced their way outside of casual conversation.

She wondered why.

What was the pull of the gold threads? She had no particular interest in the opposite sex. It was not that she didn't think guys were cute or Shinji's six pack wasn't drool-worthy; just that she had no desire to date those guys.

She used to wonder what was wrong with her. Yes, she was attracted to guys, and yes, she knew that eventually she would end up with one, but she had yet to find _one_ she wanted to be with, one that she wanted to call 'boyfriend' or introduce to her father or show that soft side she kept hidden away.

None of the boys fit that bill. There was always something wrong with them. Shinji was a pig, Maro's whining drove her nuts, Jal was nice but she wasn't attracted to him, and Koru, well she couldn't even imagine kissing _Koru_ without wincing.

None of them worked. None at all. What was wrong with her? Karin never thought she would end up being the picky type. What was it? The gold thread? Should she try and cut it off? Would she be normal then?

No, that just felt _wrong_. It felt like so much a part of her in ways that she could not explain. This connection, or whatever it was, was important, crucial, in ways she had yet to realize.

….

The tenth captain sighed over the mountain of paperwork that threatened to topple onto his lap. It really was a shame. There was a perfectly good rainstorm to practice in, and he was trapped here picking up Matsumoto's slack.

He really should have requested a different division after he passed his captaincy test, but after serving for years as a fukitaicho under Captain Isshin, he already knew all the seated officers, their strengths and weakness, and how to command them in a fight so it only seemed natural that he stay within familiar territory. That had been his first mistake.

His second mistake was actually _listening_ to all of Matsumoto's excuses, many beyond the qualifications of ridiculous, and finally giving in, just this once, if the Shinigami Women's Association was that important to her.

That had been his downfall.

He didn't mind the paperwork, not really. He was used to filling out the forms and documenting reports since his days as fukitaicho. It was the fact that his lieutenant was consistently pulling up excuses, tardy on the days she didn't walk in half-drunk, showing off her _assets_ in the most inappropriate of manners.

He would have to be a fool not to notice something was wrong. Her errant behavior started shortly after Isshin's disappearance, but that had been nearly a decade ago, back when he really didn't mind working himself to death if it meant he didn't have to think about the captain's betrayal.

No, Matsumoto's more recent behavior was deviating beyond her usual reckless antics to the point of stupidity at best, insubordination at worst.

He had his suspicions that this… development… coincided a bit too neatly with Ichimaru Gin's promotion. And that Gin had yet to pick a lieutenant.

Perhaps it was her inadvertent way of asking for a transfer. It hurt to think that she didn't respect him enough to simply ask. Even if her pride would not allow her to submit a formal, documented request, did she really need to go to such lengths to get her message across? Was he really that intimidating.

Opening a drawer, he leafed through folders, picking out a form he had never needed before. A transfer form.

He filled out the appropriate boxes signing his name on the bottom stating that he, captain of the division, approved of the transfer of his fukitaicho not for her lack of ability but due to their clashing personalities.

Matsumoto would also need to sign it.

He left the form face up on her abandoned desk with a note.

'_I understand. Next time just ask.'_

He left, the tiny office already feeling much too crowded. He abandoned the large stacks of yet to be completed reports and order forms that still needed his signature, needing some air.

He opened the bamboo door to the pouring rain, the sky as black as night. Lightning slashed through the heavens followed by the primitive roar of thunder. He leapt, using his reiatsu to carry him into the heart of the storm.

Wind ripped at his small body, tearing at his shinigami robes as icy hail pelted his back. He raced across the sky seeing how many of those ice crystals he could slice in half before they met the ground.

_67, 68, 69…_

Hours later when he returned, soaking wet and dragging a trail of puddles to his office, he was surprised to see his lieutenant crowded around his desk scribbling madly on an errant document.

She looked up at the sound of his entry. "Taicho! You're soaked!" She stood rushing to get a towel.

He raised an eyebrow when something white and fluffy was dumped on his head. "Here I'm worried sick and you're off playing in the rain." She scrubbed his head with furious abandon.

"And what's with this transfer nonsense? Are you sick? Why would I want to leave? I've got the best taicho in the Gotei thirteen!"

He smiled, taking the towel from her hands. "Hai."

**Four Months before deadline**

"Look buddy, you really picked the wrong girl to mess with." Her fingers curled into fists.

The man in the strange topped hat smiled, as if he found her bravado amusing. Dressed in a vintage suit out of the sixties complete with golden cufflinks and pocket-handkerchief, he hardly looked like the type to go for girl half his age.

"Oh contraire, little niña, I can see you are not the damsel in distress type." He wasn't backing down and that unnerved her.

She planted her feet in a loose defensive stance, knees bent, ready to spring. Good thing she had the foresight to put her hair up in a ponytail before she left the house or else she would have to worry about her hair getting in the way.

"That's because I don't need protecting."

If anything, his predatory smile only widened. "I've been watching you, chica, watching you fight, and I have been _dying_ to make you _squirm_." He leaned forward, as if to whisper a delightful secrete. "You won't cry or beg or _scream_."

She leapt back, dodging the blow, her back ramming into the sharp corner of the dumpster. He was _fast_. She was already dodging again, poorly executing a tuck and roll. He was practically on top of her before she even got to her feet.

He hadn't even drawn his sword.

Since she was practically on the ground anyways, she rolled into a sweeping kick, but he just danced out of her way. He didn't even look like he had broken a sweat.

'_He's toying with me_.' She realized with a jolt.

He smiled. "Spunk. I admire that in prey."

To human eyes, the black suited figure appeared to vanish, moving even faster than Karin could track.

She was jerked backwards by a sudden force, and it felt like her hair was tearing out pieces of her skull do to the strength of his pull. Then she was airborne as Mr. top hat leapt across the rooftops at such speed that her eyes could not keep up and it felt like all her internal organs were sinking down to her feet.

'_What _is_ he?'_

Desperate, she blindly grabbed at the cords around her chest, pulling on the first one she came in contact with.

Blue thread, Yuzu's eyes's. _'Shit.'_ She released it at once. She did not, could not risk her twin like that. Strong bond or not, she didn't know how much it could handle given her current velocity especially when she could very well rip her sister out the second floor window if Yuzu wasn't centered properly.

She reached for the other blue, Ichigo, strong, he could take it. but the thin line slipped through her fingers like sand. She cursed. Always out of her reach.

Her hand grabbed onto something solid and warm. Gold glow, teal eyes. She pulled for all that she was worth.

It was like moving a mountain with a plastic toy shovel, impossible, impractical, but not entirely pointless. Like a spring coiling back in on itself, her soul shot from her body, rocketing off towards her mountain.

It was not the first time she had used the threads, but it was the first time she used _his_.

And he felt it. Damn, she could feel him feel it, feel his head turn. No, she didn't want to put him in danger, just to get away…

But she was already zooming by the man in the black hat, his eyes wide and surprised, still dragging along her limp form by the ponytail. Beyond his reach in less than a heartbeat, she grimaced. There was no way she was going to be getting her body back.

Her feet dangled behind her, air whipping past her face. She felt so light. It had been so long since she was last in her soul form, months since she had taken that oath in Urhara's shop to never leave her body except in the most dire of circumstances.

She hoped getting taken hostage by a hollow counted as dire enough as she really didn't feel like sitting through another one of those tea-time lectures (theatrics included).

Several miles of black pavement flew under her, but it was not until she was nearing the bridge that she eased her grip on Toshiro's thread, gradually coming to a stop.

She had never crossed this bridge, and she wasn't going to start now.

He was coming; she could feel it.

She couldn't outrun him, not without calling out the use of threads, but she didn't trust her control right then, didn't trust herself to have the precision necessary for that kind of maneuvering, not with the state of mind she was in.

She needed to calm down, deep even breaths. Years of practice helped her school her features into a nonchalant expression.

The sword at her hip thrummed comfortingly. The girl had never drawn the blade, but then she didn't think she was meant to. Still just a human, she wasn't ready to learn its name, wasn't ready to tangle in that world of shingami.

In a weird way, she think it understood, respected that decision even. A time would come when she _would_ be ready and she would draw that sealed blade, just like one day she would be ready to—

"Karin?"

She twisted doing her best to look casual and unconcerned, to keep that easygoing smirk.

"Hey there Toshiro!"

He would not die because of her. Not today. Not ever.

….

He had never seen her raw soul walking around. He knew she had access to it, but for some reason it seemed as though she preferred to stay within her human body. Understandable for someone like Ichigo who needed all the advantages of shielding reiatsu that a human body offered, but for Karin whose spiritual pressure was not nearly so ridiculous and to whom control came as natural as breathing, it seemed a bit pointless. Especially considering the additional limitations of speed and, well, the fact that any stray human could see her. But now he wondered what brought the sudden change.

He had so many questions to ask her. That pull on his abdomen, the flood of fear, the rush of panic, the need to find her, the certainty that she was in danger, how he just _knew_ where she was. What was that? Why did it happen?

What on earth was she even doing out here at this hour, so far from home. She couldn't have been fighting a hollow; otherwise he would have felt the traces of her reiatsu.

It was strange. He could still feel her, knew her heartbeat was still going a mile a minute under that calm expression. How did he know that? But he was certain, as sure about he had ever been about anything.

And now that he knew what to look for, the warning signs were all there, the rigidness of her stance, the dilation of her pupils, the absence of the wrinkle in the skin next to her eye when she smiled.

He frowned. The sudden abandonment of her body, her random appearance near the bridge, his sudden insight that she was in danger, it couldn't all just be chance. But before he could open his mouth, before he could voice any of these thoughts, there was a flair of reiatsu behind him, the sound of something landing on the bridge.

He turned facing a figure dressed in black. The man, if it could be called that, was dragging something heavy behind him, and it was with a start that the boy realized it was the battered version of Karin's body.

"I believe the senorita has lost something." The hollow, he was certain of it, released Karin's head, and the two other souls winced at the painful crack of skull meeting pavement.

"I trade you body for spirit. The chica has a nice flavor no? Es muy delecioso."

It wasn't hard for the white haired shingami to fit the pieces together. His teeth ground together. "Stay here."

"Sit atop the frozen heavens, Hyorinmaru!"

The arrancar grimaced. "Must we fight? I really don't like boys."

The soul reaper responded with a downward slash that swept Mr. top hat away from Karin's body.

"My name is Toshiro Hitsugaya, captain of the tenth division."

"Ah the dragon pequeño. Yes, I heard you killed my most hungry amigo. I am Fernando, espanda de ocho."

His graceful bow was mocking. "Killing a lady's entourage is most ungentlemanly, but if I must dispel of such unpleasant company then so it must be." He spread his arms wide in a false gesture of hospitality. "I shall slay the dragon, then the chica is mine, yes?"

A great crack sounded from underneath the bridge, and the steel support beams groaned in agonizing protest. Even in the dim moonlight the sheen of lapping water had been visible as black waves tossed the reflected light.

But as the well dressed man finished his speech, the water swelled, crackling. Spikes, white and deadly, impaled the inky surface, rising both in number and height above the even the tallest arch of the bridge. White frost spread outward from the boy's feet, his turquoise eyes darkened in anger.

Downwind, a ponytailed soul was bent over her abandoned body, attempting to drag it away from the inevitable destruction zone. Dark eyes glanced at the icy pillars in concern. At this rate, the entire bridge was coming down.

Gripping her body over the shoulder (because she was in no hurry to feel that inevitable headache), she focused her center. She could do this.

A light tug on Yuzu's thread pulled her to the safety of the park where she quickly hid her body behind the bleachers of the stadium. Hopefully it would be safe there. Racing back to the bridge the old fashioned way, via foot, she felt the ground trembling underfoot and nearly doubled over at the intensity of Hitsugaya's spiritual release.

Her sword thrummed at her side, a warning. The brunet quieted her zampakto with a reassuring pat. She was not naïve. At this level of fighting, she knew she would be less than useless, not when she could barely stand up against the heavy reiatsu. Instead, she would keep close watch from the sidelines, _not_ because she was a damsel in distress, but because she was _not_ stupid enough or reckless enough or _lucky_ enough to blunder into a fight way over her head the way Ichigo did.

She still powered up her spirit bullet, just in case.

Meanwhile, the boy, captain or otherwise, was having the duel of his life. This arrancar, the eighth espada had yet to release his blade, and yet he was matching the little white flake blow for blow, evading his attacks with ridiculous ease, then parrying with unreal speed.

"You are holding back dragon pequeño. How do you call it? Bankai? Is the chica not worth full strength? The knight shall slay such an arrogant dragon."

"Will you shut up!" The shingami captain shouted. Without fail, he always seemed to get the opponents who didn't know how to stop jabbering.

Leaping, he hurled his chain with herculean speed at the tuxedo man's neck. Under the brim of his dark hat, lips quirked into a smile as the chain sliced through his afterimage.

Further down the pavement lingering near cement medium, dark eyes widened as they followed the path of precious red fluid sliding down the tip of a thin sword, dripping, falling, staining the white ice bellow.

A thin blade sliced through his kimono, gutting the black fabric like a fish. He grit his teeth as pain slid through his senses, but he refused to let the red haze cloud them. Releasing the chain, he took hold of the blade piercing his torso, preventing its user from easy withdrawal. Sharp edges sliced his palm, cutting through the thick skin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl moving, saw her channeling reiatsu into the tip of her finger.

No, she could not be involved. He had to be quick.

"_Bankai_."

Icy wings erupted from his back as his power merged with that of the dragon. The dark suited man abandoned his sword, cart wheeling back to avoid being impaled. He could feel Karin being thrown back at the near explosion of reiatsu sent her petite form flying off the pavement, haphazardly landing in the ditch meant for runoff water, red glow on her hand vanishing.

All this he processed in less than a second as he flew forward in pursuit of the unarmed espada. He slashed, and the tuxedo man raised his forearm to block. The boy smirked as it was encapsulated in ice, he pulled back for a second strike, anticipating of the frozen limb to shatter.

A crack appeared in the icy surface, and the young captain felt a rush of dark energy. In his hand, Hyorinmaru pulsed, his only warning.

A flash of white, blinding explosion. The bridge shook, metal grating and melting, threatening to buckle. It was like a domino effect. The ice on the river lit up, erupting in an identical blast, thundering so loud his eardrums shattered, so bright he feared his retinas burning, shaking the earth with the power of a bomb meeting an earthquake. He felt his outer skin burning and pealing, his internal organs being spared from boiling only my the last moment wall of protection his dragon threw up, instinctively protecting his young wielder.

Thoughts of battle were momentarily forgotten as his eyes sought through the inferno and his barrier of ice, seeking that ditch, the girl had rolled into. _'Karin_.'

The wave of destruction passed, and there was no sign of the man with the top hat as he raced over steaming pavement and the curdled remains of what used to be a bridge, praying that the girl had the foresight to put up a kido shield, even if it was only a weak one.

It seemed she had though the protection had been minimal at best. Her left leg splayed at an unnatural angle while her hands, the part that had fought to maintain the shield raised against the rocking explosion, he could see white bits of bone beneath the red twitching muscle. Her arms were covered in blisters, blood dripping at her elbow, angry black scorch marks ripping across her shoulders. Panting through cracked lips, dark grey eyes gazed up at him, expression blank with cold horror. She wobbled, barely conscious, hands still raised, not crying but not screaming either.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid to make things worse.

Blue light of healing kido lit up his hands in an unearthly glow. He had never been much of a healer, had never attempted anything beyond the basics. He held the light near her hands, not touching, but letting the gentle healing energy sink into her flesh.

She whimpered once as the nerve fibers reconnected but stayed silent as pink tissue covered her fingers, grey eyes fixed on him as he worked.

He didn't say anything, didn't know what he could say. He didn't look at her either as disgusted as he was with himself. What would she say if she knew that dark energy, the spark that swept the whole world on fire, came from him? If she knew that he who had sworn on a number of occasions to protect her had been the one to put her in this state?

He should have just left her with the hollow. She would have been safer.

Ivory skin rolled back over her digits, and he shifted, moving down to her wrists, then arms, a slow patch job. She said noting, didn't even move, uncharacteristically still.

He didn't know what to do about the black burns on her shoulders or how to splint a broken leg so he just left them alone. It was a quick patch job anyways; the real healing would have to occur on its own the old fashioned way.

It was just as well that he was taking her home. Her father was a doctor right? Didn't her family own some sort of clinic? They would know what to do, but first…

He was still afraid to touch her, but it was irrational to expect her to walk on her own. Slowly, he bent, wrapping his arm under her legs as carefully as he would a newborn child. His other hand slid behind her shoulder blades as he cradled her against his chest. The brunet hissed as her injured leg moved, and the dragon boy froze, feeling helpless. He didn't want to hurt her, but he needed to get her to a safe place where someone more experienced could handle her wounds.

"It's fine," she growled. "Just get me back to my body. It's under the bleachers next to the soccer field."

He nodded, readjusting his grip under her legs in what he hoped would be a less painful position. The girl carefully wrapped her arms around his neck as he stood. They still hurt, but by then she was growing numb to the sensation.

She wasn't angry at him, just frustrated at her own weaknesses and failings. Always getting in the way, causing him trouble, she hated being so dependant. She wanted to be strong enough that not only would she not need his protection but that she could protect _him_.

Closing her eyes, she nuzzled his neck, half hoping he wouldn't notice and half hoping he would. She needed to keep him safe too. He was the only one she would show that soft side to, the only one she needed to need her too, and she was not going to let that go. Not now, now when she was finally understanding what that gold thread was for.

**Four Weeks before deadline**

She was glad her father had never been the type to worry about grades because she certainly was slipping now. It's not that she didn't care just that she didn't have _time_ to give to the idiosyncrasies of homework.

Jinta had been covering for her splendidly, claiming she had joined this elite soccer team across town. Practices ran late so she really couldn't get back in time to walk Yuzu home, but he, the disgusting pig, was more than happy to step in for her.

It couldn't be helped though. At the very least, she owed him for seeing her sister home safely since she was so clearly unavailable.

She still felt bad about leaving her sister in the dark; she hated it when Ichi-nii did that, even if it was for their own protection. But if Yuzu knew what she was really up to, balancing precariously on that tightrope between realities, there was no doubt the fair haired girl would lock her twin up and never let her see the day again.

Urahara was going to kill her, no doubt, when he found out what she had been up to, but then, so what. If this _worked_ then it wouldn't matter what they did to her.

Lately, she had been experimenting with her threads, growing them artificially. The brunet had been careful, testing her abilities on the artificial souls Urahara had commissioned for her before daring to touch her own.

Granted, he believed she was working out a way to make them combat effective, and, to a certain extent, she was, but that wasn't her main goal.

She wanted to know how to grow the threads artificially, say from an existing thread that had been sliced, and what the consequences would be on the soul that had a re-grown attachment.

At first, the results looked positive, no immediate side effects beyond lightheadedness and emotional exhaustion, easy, fixable things that she could deal with. It was when she started directing that emotional energy, pushing in her reiatsu to change the nature of the threads, green turning into red or blue, violet changing into gold and silver, that the alarm bells started going off in her head.

Cutting a more richly colored thread was much more devastating, leaving the artificial soul's physical form strained and it's spiritual form scarred. Colors like silver and gold, rare and difficult to create, were practically impossible to sever without killing at least one of the souls, and merely cutting it left both parties sore and spiritually wounded.

Lighter colors, blues and pinks, worked better, mending easily when she pulled the stings back together. It gave her hope.

It took all of her convincing to get Urahara to capture a low level hollow for her, the weakest breed he could find. If he wasn't so curious as to the results of her experiment, she wasn't sure she could have brushed off his prying questions.

While she wasn't exactly thrilled about having him watch her work, he insisted upon his presence given the added danger a hollow brought. She called it spying; the man was well aware of her own abilities and knew she could handle herself. But he was firm, stating that her research would not continue unless she accepted his terms. Finally, begrudgingly, she agreed.

In the underground basement of a deceptively innocent appearing candy shop, a young girl, short for her age, stared down a rather plain looking white mask, sizing up the unimpressive figure bound to a wooden chair by three different types of kido spells. They would be taking no chances.

The artificial souls, already placed in nondescript gigai, stood behind her obediently, blank eyes waiting for instructions. What their eyes did not show, their bodies did. They trembled, arms crossed protectively over their torsos instinctively recognizing the presence of a predator.

A topped hat, stripped green and white, sat atop a head of thick blond curls. Peering beneath its shaded brim, a pair of dark eyes watched the proceedings with unrivaled intensity. While his posture reflected that of nonchalance, tne hand gripped his cane betrayed him. It was difficult to say if that flickering emotion was that of concern…

Or excitement.

Maybe it was a bit of both. The girl pretended not to notice. Not to care. Pretended she could not read her teacher so easily. Pretended she couldn't hear the hollow howling at her, shaking against its restraints to get at her, greedy eyes wild with hunger.

She stepped forward, pulling along her first test subject, a young male. She had high hopes as this particular subject had been quite hardy against her previous tests, withstanding her thread breaking and rebuilding procedures with minimal damage.

Urahara had named him Jimmy. The girl had argued against the name, reminding the elder that these were test subjects, experiments, and naming them would only lead to attachment which called for unhappy endings when their inevitable expiration date rolled around. But the seasoned veteran had only tipped his hat frowning.

"_Ah, Karin-chan, but then you forget that they are alive, even if but for a short time, and they can feel pain, just as you and I."_

She let him have his way as he danced about naming the others Sarah and Wendy and so forth, waving his white fan about in the most unorthodox manner.

'Jimmy' didn't seem to care either way. Of the three artificial souls present, he seemed the least threatened by the hollow.

It's why she chose him first.

Blank brown eyes stared at her dully as she worked, coaxing a thread into existence between the gigai and the immobile monster.

The girl knew there was technically no such thing as creating threads; they were there already, invisible perhaps, just connections waiting for chance or opportunity to be discovered.

All that was need was the right _push_.

Color burst underneath her hands, dark brown racing to join the two souls. Brown, she frowned, a tricky color but not unexpected. At least it was better than black. She focused her reiatsu on the thread once more, channeling warmer colors, softer colors, gently pressing her will on the relationship.

The artificial soul responded easily, letting its thread flow from brown to blue. It appeared outwardly indifferent, but it eyed the hollow more thoughtfully as if reevaluating its initial impressions.

The hollow fought against the changed, growling at her as if it found the color change painful. The girl had to pour more and more reiatsu into keeping it subdued as blue slowly pressed back on the brown. The thread was darker on the hollow's side, never quite reaching that shade of light blue that ran from the gigai.

It would have to do. Gripping the thread with both hands, the girl pulled sharply. Brittle, easily broken, she tore the thread in half. Jimmy grunted, twitching minutely in response to the pain of separation, while the hollow cocked its head to the side, no longer straining against its bonds. Curious.

The middle region disintegrated until only a short, frayed strand hung from the end of each soul. Walking over to the artificial soul, the brunet examined the severed thread. Indeed, it looked quite similar to her own broken thread.

She felt eyes, Jimmy's, Urahara's, even the hollow's, watch her hand slide forward. There was a certain amount of elegance in the way it moved, gliding through the air with uninhibited grace, touching the abandoned thread in an almost intimate manner.

This is what she had been waiting for.

'_Mom_…'

For the second time that day, she pushed her reiatsu out into her fingertips. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, such precision it required wasting blue particles rise from the nothingness of the air, twisting together, weaving her masterpiece.

The thread grew in length, stretching towards the masked monster. _'It's working!'_

A shadow seemed to pass over the room, the thread in her hands fading from blue to grey to charcoal black. Hot, burning pain, she released it in surprise.

Jimmy's mouth was open in a silent scream, eyes flickering from brown to gold and serpentine, blood sliding down his cheeks like tears. Horror, the likes of which the witnesses had never seen, ripping through Jimmy's gigai; something, tearing and ripping and slaughtering mortal appendages, fighting to get out.

Suddenly, she was on the ground, Urahara standing in front of her protectively, sword drawn, metal glinting at his side, but he could not block her eyes, could not make her un-see the grotesque mutilation of Jimmy's body as it shredded, layer by bloody layer. Ripping from the confines was a ghastly white face, a black body, long fingers sticky and red, and a hole slashing through its torso. The beast roared, an unearthly scream that wracked her bones and left her shaking cold.

It was over quickly, the candy shop owner quickly disposing of both hollows, both the test subject and the altered sou. She was still trembling by the time he turned back to her.

"Whatever you just attempted Karin-chan, I don't think it would be wise to try it again."

Nodding dumbly, the girl wrapped her arms around herself, unable to rid herself of the grotesque images trapped on the back of her retinas.

….

It was not that he was avoiding her _specially_; he was avoiding _everyone_ so she really shouldn't take it personally.

His soul was rotting away, being consumed by that hollow's demonic reiatsu. Apparently, this is not the first time such a thing has happened—after all, it was well know that certain hollows had certain means of…conversion—but it was the first time it happened to a _captain_.

The hollow he had fought had not been high level at all. That is what made his case so peculiar. There had only been a rare handful of hollows that were capable of turning other souls into their like, but those were _old_ hollows, those who had survived long enough to learn not only how to manage their hunger but the deadly art of patience. The one he had fought was young, of a weak species, and had virtually no control on its need to feed. It hadn't even sensed it was out of its league when it attacked a captain level shinigami. Even the more mindless ones had been capable of _that_.

He brushed his bangs of out his eyes in frustration. There was no use dwelling on it now; what's done is done.

"Taiiiiichoo! Where are you?"

He kept still, not wanting to be found. The roof was not a particularly good hiding spot all things considered, but his fukitaicho rarely thought to look up. Indeed, this instance proved the rule as he heard the clack of her shoes slowly fade away as she wandered away.

He closed his eyes against the sunlight.

"_Why are you still following me?"_

_She scuffed her shoe against the sidewalk as grey eyes glared at him fiercely. "I'm not leaving if that's what you're implying."_

_He muttered something under his breath about the stubborn nature that plagued all Kurosaki's. _

"_Go home. Your family is probably worried."_

"_Nah, they don't worry about me. They know I can take care of myself and still have plenty left over to keep an eye on you."_

_He stayed silent. There was no sense arguing with her when she was inevitably going to do whatever she pleased regardless of his wishes._

"_Ne Shiro, Have you ever noticed there is something different about us?"_

"_Hmm?" He quirked a single eyebrow._

"_The way others treat us… it's different from most."_

_He shrugged, indifferent. "Different people get treated differently."_

"_No, it's not that." She struggled to find the right words. "You treat me different too."_

_He stopped, turning to look at her, teal eyes unreadable in the moonlight. "It's Hitsuguya-taicho then."_

_She rolled her eyes. "You _know_ what I mean."_

Indeed he did.

She was the human that could see ghosts, the killer of hollows and the friend of shinigami. For a human, her spiritual pressure was phenomenal. For a Kurosaki, her control was unbelievable. It was no wonder she was treated different.

And he, he was the youngest shinigami captain in centuries, one of the few, rare souls capable of wielding a ryu (dragon). He woke up in the Rukongai, a child left in an abandoned lot. His early death in the human world and humble upbringings in the roughest district in soul society should have seriously stunted his spiritual growth, and should have, at the very least, cut down on his expected lifespan. Who knows, maybe it had. But Hyorinmaru still came to him, still called to his soul.

She treated him differently not only because he was the first soul reaper, with the exception of her brother, she had encountered but also because he was the only one, in appearance at least, of being her own age. She sought him out, talked to him, asked _him_ the questions she didn't feet comfortable posing to the other, older shinigami, questions her brother refused to answer and the others danced around because she was _human_ and shouldn't even see them anyways.

He treated her differently because, initially, he had been surprised. Humans that could see spirits were far and few in between. Only a fraction of those ever admitted it, and even less actively interacted with them.

She was not afraid of him or intimidated by his white hair. Growing up, he was used to being avoided by his age mates because he looked mean or "scary," and it really came as no surprise when her soccer buddies saw him in the same light. She wasn't bothered; if anything she thought his gravity-defying hair made him look cool.

He was older than her, time passes slowly in the spirit world, but she still went from calling him an old man for liking candy beans to demanding that he go to school like the rest of the kids.

His fukitaicho was not the only one to point out that while the girl wasn't the only one to tease him about his apparent age, she was the only one the captain let get away with it.

"_Ah, I see. You came down to visit your grandma."_

"_She's not my grandma. I met her when I was stationed in the human world."_

"_You were stationed here?"_

"_Several years ago, before I got promoted. It was to help me gain more experience, but, like you, she was able to see me."_

"_All those spirits in her house… Are to keep her company?"_

_His eyes took on this distant look. "Yeah, humans thought she was crazy, talking to herself. They avoided her, and she houses wayward spirits to keep her from getting lonely."_

A puzzle really. Frustrating as much as it was amusing. Playful one minute, deep and thoughtful the next, a fighter when she had to be, unafraid and fierce, but a friend when she was needed most.

"_Ne Granny, can I come visit again? There's a soccer field nearby so I can bring my friends too."_

Fixing problems she didn't need to, doing things she didn't have to, caring when no one asked her to. He never asked for help, never asked to be her friend or to care about his precious people, but she acted without asking, understanding what was needed whether it was spoken or silent.

She was who she was, and he was who he was. It was as simple as that.

"Taaiiichoo!" came the sing-song voice of his lieutenant.

The boy-captain cursed as he was crushed to the buxom woman's chest, arms of steel preventing his escape.

"He he! I found you!"

Finally he was able to kick her off, putting a few good feet of space between them. "What do you want Matsumoto?"

"You're lucky I found you first. Mauri-taicho has been turning the whole division over looking for you." She beamed, clearly proud of herself. "But I'm not going to let my little taicho be turned into a test subject for doctor whack-a-doodle."

He kept his face calm, his composure cold and casual. "Indeed."

**Four Days before deadline**

It wasn't hard, snitching the master key from the principle's office. In fact, it was almost disheartening how easy it was. It had just been _sitting_ there on the loop of car keys and gaudy key chains. She doubted Mrs. Vaden, or "Vader" when her back was turned, even noticed its absence.

Sneaking into the school afterhours filled her with a certain amount of excitement. Breaking the rules, knowing she would get away with it, almost made up for all of Jinta's whining as she dragged him to the cafeteria by the ear.

Well, yeah, maybe that _was_ a bit harsh, after all he was willingly helping her get revenge on those losers who kicked her off the soccer team, but she could hardly help that bubble of agitation that twisted in her gut.

Shiro stood her up.

He was supposed to be here, helping her pull of the master prank. He was getting a week off of work from his division, and he promised to help her.

He _lied_.

So now all she had was obnoxious red head to help her turn the cafeteria into a mess of shaving cream, steamers, and water balloons filled with war paint artfully placed around the team's table. Granted the working was going smoothly, and they were making more progress than she initially anticipated, but she certainly hadn't been happy about having to worm though the rafters last night to set the trigger when a certain shinigami could have just done it with a hop and a skip.

But the bastard hadn't shown up.

Where was he? The jerk had completely vanished. The few times she had tracked down some of the other shinigami stationed in the human world, their responses had only served to agitate her further. The bloke with the funny eyebrows thought he was on a mission of some kind. The strange bald guy was worse; first he refused to answer her questions, insisting that she fight him, and then, after he practically pulverized her, he shrugged them off, saying he didn't know anything about the tiny taicho's whereabouts.

Finally, she managed to track down the busty lieutenant wandering between the shopping center and the local pub, but she seemed just as confused as the human girl. Yes, her taicho had requested a leave of absence, partially to train, partially to travel, but she would have thought he would have been here by now. Wasn't he helping Karin on some sort of project? No? Maybe he got caught up in his training? Men, always worrying about proving their macho-ness.

Remembering just made her angrier, and she twisted her companion's ear with a bit more force than was necessary, nearly ripping it away from his skull.

"Ow! Ow! Karin! Stop it!"

She growled dangerously, but released his throbbing ear. "Get the strobe lights set up while I finish up with the water balloons."

She'd show him. She didn't need him. She could get along just fine without him. She stomped through the double doors not looking back.

….

He knelt before the small house, appearing for the first time in years without his harori, the robes that defined his status as a soul reaper. Indeed, he felt very naked without the familiar weight of Hyorinmaru on his back, but coming armed was out of the question. It would dishonor her memory.

To think such a shack once housed three people; it looked so tiny to him now. Painfully empty too, now that his surrogate grandmother had passed on.

She had taken him in, given him a home. She didn't have to, not when she already had Momo to worry about, but when she found him in the vacant lot, sitting amongst the other piles of garbage, she picked him up. No questions about where his parents were or curious glances at his unique hair color, the elderly woman simply marched home, a young boy on her hip and her other curious charge trailing behind.

Fed him, clothed him, gave him a place to stay. A place to call home.

The boy stood, noting the thick layer of dust. Filthy. It would not do.

Rolling up his sleeves, opened the door, propped the windows, and grabbed the broom. Dust went flying in all directions as he swept and scrubbed scoured those uneven floorboards and off-white walls until his hands pulsed and his knuckles were bleeding. He wiped the grease from the windows, buffing them until they shined. He chased spiders out of the rafters and repaired the leak on the roof. He swept the cold cinders out of the fireplace and shook out the bedrolls. He plucked the weeds from the garden that grew around the house, and set to work on covering the house on a new coat of paint.

When he finished, panting, exhausted, and smelling like a pig, the old shack gleamed in the fading sunlight, glowing as though it were brand new.

For a moment, he sat back, admiring his handiwork. Still a bit cramped for three people, but at least now it looked habitable.

He didn't smile though. The frown, the wrinkle in his brow, the hardness in his eye, they never left his face, not when he was working and certainly not know. All those years of struggling, of listening to shingles fall off the roof, of falling asleep to his grandmother's labored breathing, he could have fixed it. How much better would everyone's lives have been if he had had the power he had now?

He raised his hand, arm parallel to the ground. A flicker of reiatsu, a whispered incantation.

Fire burst from his fingertips, curling around the house like a demonic embrace. It caught quickly, smoke soaring into the sky like a dark phoenix.

He felt eyes on his back, neighbors and curious onlookers watching from a distance, back behind the safety of walls and windows. It didn't matter, he told himself. He didn't care what they thought. Not anymore.

Turning around, he walked down the path, returning the way he came as the abandoned house hissed and cackled behind him.

"Three more days," he mumbled. "Three more."

**Four Hours before deadline**

A startled yelp escaped her lips as a heavenly portal opened above her head and a shinigami all but fell on top of her. A flutter of black robes, a pink scarf, and platinum hair flashed across her vision. The girl had no doubt who it was that graced her presence, the lieutenant of her favorite taicho, and she would have shoved the larger woman off of her immediately if it wasn't for the fact that she was terrified of her hands coming into contact with those abnormally large… assets.

She struggled to disentangle herself, hands held firmly at her side, but the fukitaicho of the tenth division clung her shoulders with unearthly tenacity.

"Matsumoto-san, would you please—"

The taller woman shook against her, her hold only tightening. "Oh, Karin-chan." It was then that the human girl realized her companion was crying, sobbing violently into her school uniform, her words practically indecipherable.

"Matsumoto-san?"

"It's awful," the older woman blubbered, "terrible, and I didn't even realize… I couldn't stop… Oh Karin-chan! My little taicho, I couldn't stop him!"

Ice, a cold, numb feeling spread across her chest, making it difficult move, to breathe. "Shiro-chan?"

"He's gone. He's gone! My little taicho, he left his captain robes behind!" The buxom lieutenant sobbed all the harder, and the younger girl stumbled in an effort to keep them both balanced upright.

Finally breaking free of the shingami's grip, Karin spun on her heal to face the fukitaicho directly. "Okay, first you need to calm down. I can't understand you when you are hysterical."

Only after the other woman had taken a few deep breaths and looked more in-control did the girl finally ask the question that was burning at her heart. "From the beginning this time, what happened?"

The older woman straightened her shoulders, and in a much steadier voice began reiterating her tale. "I noticed my Taicho has been behaving strangely the past few weeks, going off on his own more and spending long hours in the training area by himself. At the time, I didn't think much of it, just another part of growing up or training to get a deeper understanding of his bankai.

"But then a week ago, I noticed a report from Mayuri-taicho sitting on his desk. Well, I shouldn't say sitting on as he did try to hide it, but I was looking for the secrete compartment where I hide my sake stash when I found it. Er, anyways, I was concerned. I know Mayrui-taicho has been lusting after my taicho's reiatsu since he entered the Gotei thirteen. Ice type reiatsu's are rare, and my captain's zanpakto is the most powerful ice-based sword. It's supposed to be legendary, only a select few souls have ever proved worthy enough to call it master, and since he learned this, Mayuri-taicho has been pestering my taicho to come down to his lab so he could run a few tests.

"Naturally, my taicho wasn't interested, but that never stopped Mayuri-taicho from sending him 'love letters' on occasion. So when I first saw that the paper was from Mayuri-taicho, that's what I assumed it was.

"I was wrong. It was a patient-history of sorts, documenting recurrent incidents, responses to various tests, blood work, DNA analysis, and just about everything under the sun.

"Needless to say, I was furious. I chased my taicho down, waving the paper in front of his face, demanding to now how he could do something so stupid. I kept going on and on about how Mayuri should be court marshaled for performing experiments on shinigami, and on an _officer_ no less, but then Taicho interrupted me, saying that he _wanted_ Mayuri to perform those tests, that he had _willingly_ participated.

"And that's not even the worst part! He gave some vague story about his reiatsu changing and his chakra points closing down, and I could hardly understand any of the medical mumbo-jumbo. I had to go to the fourth division just to get someone to explain to me what spiritual decay is."

The older shinigami looked like she was ready to start crying again, and not knowing what else to do, the dark-haired girl, patted her shoulder. Internally, she was going over her own memories. The boy had been acting a bit off, but she had been so selfishly wrapped up in her own world to notice that something was wrong, awful, oh Shiro-chan, why didn't she _see_ it before now.

The girl's throat felt dry and raspy as if she hadn't used it in a hundred years. "What's spiritual decay?"

Across from her, blue eyes watered. "It's a rare occurrence. Some hollows, rather than eating souls are infectious. They never live very long since they eventually starve to death, but they have to be treated very carefully least they contaminate a soul. A normal soul that doesn't have much spiritual pressure will either die instantly or turn into a low-level hollow, but when a Shingami gets infected, their whole spiritual pressure changes, tainted with the dark energy of hollows.

"It's not a pleasant story from there. Most of the time, the infected shinigami doesn't have enough reiatsu or enough control of their reiatsu in order for it to make any difference. If they catch it early enough, sometimes surgery can remove the tainted area at the cost of one's shinigami abilities. But if the infection is realized too late, even death won't save the soul; it would only speed up the process of hollowfication."

The girl tried to swallow the lump in her throat but found that it didn't move. Worry spread through her like a fever, her heart pounded in her ears, her knees beginning to tremble. "Why doesn't he just get the surgery?"

"And sacrifice his zanpakto?" She shook her head. "No, he would never endanger his partner, not after everything they've been through. Surgery would also mean surrendering his captain robes, sitting on the sidelines and watching the rest of us fight his battles."

"But he would be alive!" The girl interrupted.

The fukitaicho sighed in frustration. "But my taicho doesn't care so much about his own life. Not compared to protecting yours. It would kill him to be helpless, to be powerless to defend those he cares about." The shinigami continued, "But don't forget that my taicho though has excellent control over his spiritual pressure, and he has enough reiatsu to fight off the hollow's energy.

"He was going to take a week off, try to learn how to manage it and keep the demonic energy at bay."

So that's why she hadn't seen him, the girl thought. She felt guilty at her past anger at him now.

"But then earlier today, I heard the most awful rumor. A lot of the unranked shinigami were at the bar, singing up a storm. When I finally pulled one of the more sober ones away, I found out why they were celebrating.

"General Yamamoto discovered a new weapon that would rid us of hollows forever, and at first, I was excited. But before I could get through my first round of sake, Renji caught up with me and told me the truth. He was leaving on an escort mission with my taicho, to take the weapon to Las Noches, the lair of the hollows."

She started to choke up again. "He said that… he just wanted me to know that it wasn't like it seemed. My taicho… because he has some demonic reiatsu, he can pass through Las Noches undetected. His job was to plant the weapon. A bomb." Her voice raised an octave taking on the hysterical ring once more. "My little taicho! It's going to shred his soul! That stupid black box! It's going to kill him! He left his haori in the office so I know he's serious, and he won't listen to me; he's being so stupid and stubborn! And now I can't find him anywhere!"

Words were started to blend together, colors blurring behind the hot liquid pooling around her eyes, and she was pushing past the tall woman, shoving her out of the way as her feet skid around the corner. Running, running, fat hot tears that she blinked away—she _would not cry_—running as if time meant something, as if the space she occupied mattered, running as if she could just force the world into order, turn her wishes into answers, her needs into reality, her will into something tangible. White hair and blue-green eyes. Lost and found. A golden thread wrapped around her heart. Her anchor, her soul, her partner, everything and nothing, and something she could not afford to lose. Running as if it made a difference. Running as if she could find him.

A headache blossomed in her temple, a hollow sliding into existence. She fired blindly, barely able to breathe in air that felt too thick and heavy. A perfect shot that hit dead center.

Running because everything depended on it.

….

Five minutes. Was that too much to ask for? Just five minutes alone? Apparently it was. He really didn't want to spend his last few hours fighting hollows, weak species though they were. Not that he really was complaining, the distraction was probably for the best, but it's just that his heart wasn't in it. As if fighting them had lost all meaning.

Rooftops ranged in color from blue to grey to black and brown, some were flat and stiff, others appeared to have a rolling gait to them. To guard against rain or hail or the formidable strikes of nature at its wildest, man created the buildings, the roofs, the storehouses and sheds. First it was to keep out the dangers of the beast, then locks and bulletproof windows were created to protect against the dangers of man.

Balanced precariously on a light pole, he wondered of the change in technology, beautiful in its own way yet so hideous at the same time.

Spending time in the human world made him miss the simple beauty of the spirit world. The rolling hills covered in trees, the clean lakes and the icy rain. Spending time in the spirit world made him miss the human world, the buzz of people, the conveniences of cell phones, and the fascinating glow of the television screen. When he was here, he missed his division, the clean, quiet order of his office, the chaos his fukitaicho brought. He missed napping on the roof and occasionally dropping by the academy as a guest teacher or to evaluate the progress of potential recruits.

When he was in Seretai, he missed the humans he left behind, the antics that amused him (even though he would never admit it) and the "egg-rice" dish that the youngest Kurosaki made.

But now… now those days were over. He was done chasing hollows and filling out the division's paperwork, done playing soccer games and waiting for Matsumoto to sober up. He was done with everything. He didn't want to be, didn't mean to be, yet knew, with the same certainly that if he lost his balance he would learn how hard the pavement could be, that he was finished and more than ready to lay his sword down and end this pointless fighting.

What was life anyway but a struggle from one drama to the next?

'_I don't want to die.'_

Death was inevitable. He shouldn't try to fight it. Rather, he should accept it.

'_I don't want to die.'_

After all death was his duty. He had sworn to protect those souls even at the cost of his own.

'_I don't want to die.'_

Come hell…

'_I don't want to die.'_

Or hunger…

'_I don't want to die.'_

In both triumph and defeat…

'_I don't want to die.'_

This he did swear to uphold.

'_There is still so much to do. I'm not ready to die.'_

To protect those who could not protect themselves.

'_But I shall_…'

His job, his honor, his oath, "I do solemnly swear," he muttered under his breath as he moved, "that I will support and defend the free souls and the Gotei thirteen against all enemies," His feet smacked against the pavement. "that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same."

He was walking, faster, jogging now. "I swear to protect and serve all souls as is within my power, even at the cost of my own life. I take this obligation freely, without mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the position I am about to enter."

He stopped walking, teal eyes flashing, taking in his surroundings.

"This I do swear," he whispered, breathless.

His feet had carried him to the familiar spot, where there was a break in the trees, opening it up to the sky. He stopped walking, taking in the broad expanse of sky. It looked so much bigger now, so much larger than he remembered ever seeing it before. Puffy, swollen clouds, grey like her eyes, were suspended high above him. It seemed like an endless space stretched before and above him.

'_I am going to die_.'

There. Deep breath.

'_I am going to die_.'

He could accept it.

**Four Minutes before deadline**

Her foot arched downward, heavy with reiatsu, the mask of a bulldog splintered in half, but she didn't wait to see the beast dissolve. Twisting in midair, she shot one, two, three spirit bullets, each ripping through white skull masks.

She growled, pushing back her hair with a sweaty palm. Where were they all coming from? This was getting ridiculous. Kicking another one in its pig-like snout, she spun on the balls of her feet, adrenaline high, awaiting the next contender.

But they were retreating. Strange. Since when did hollows retreat?

She grabbed onto one of the white strings overhead, sliding down it like a zip line. She shot a few of the slower ones as she went. They were all running in the same direction as the strings, going back the way she had last seen Tosh—oh shit.

She slammed into an invisible barrier, and the white thread slid from her fingers. Taking a hard tumble onto the pavement, she watched as parade of hollows marched passed her, disappearing into a void she could not follow, not even bothering to spare her a bloodthirsty leer.

She trembled as the gears clicked in her brain. '_Toshiro. They're going after Toshiro!_'

….

The seal lit up, dancing across the desert sand like fireworks. The hollows behind him howled in dismay.

"_**Tricked,**_" one hissed flexing its claws.

"_**Let's eat him**_" said one with a bird shaped mask.

"_**No, let's watch him burn. I bet this one sings pretty.**_"

The boy bowed his head as the seal array danced behind him. It was done. Killing him would not stop it now. The box of the damned was already bringing this measly place to an end.

Black energy wrapped around him protectively turning the weaker species in smoldering piles of ash. No wonder there was so much sand in the desert of Las Noches; it was the build up of centuries of the fragmented souls of the damned. A bitter thought.

"_**I bet his flesh is pink and his blood is red.**_"

"_**Let's find out!**_" As one, the pack lunged.

**Four Seconds before deadline**

Her sword hummed at her side and suddenly she understood. Abandoning her body, her physical form collapsing with a soft thud, she reached for her hilt.

….

His blood dribbled into the sands, and the seals soaked it up, taking as much of it as he would give them.

Teeth pierced his shoulder, claws dug into his calf. If the hollows had not wasted the last few minutes arguing about which one was actually going to eat him, he would have been dead already. As it were, bleeding himself out was a much slower, much more painful process. Suddenly the sick dizzying feeling was overwhelming, and he swayed, his feet threatening to collapse.

The seal hummed, and the square lock tiny black box at the center of the array of glowing symbols cracked. The lid, polished black lacquer, gleaming morbidly amidst the shimmering seals, slid back like a mouth yawning wide, sharp teeth ready to pierce, jaws spreading to swallow the world.

**A/N**: Well folks, we are over half-way done. Only two more chapters to go. Be excited. Be very excited. I know I am. The next chapter might take a little longer as I will be in the process of moving. I will try to update as quick as I can, but please be patient with me.

I hope this chapter answered some of the questions about the mysterious aspects while still leaving you hooked enough to read more.

Like it? Love it? Hate it? Please leave a review and let me know what you think.

Thanks!


	4. Two

**Author's Note:** Thanks for being patient with me. I'm sorry it took so long to update, but moving involves a lot more work than you would expect. This story is coming to a close, sadly, but what an adventure it has been. This is the last real chapter before the epilogue, and I hope it was worth the wait.

Standard disclaimers still apply.

..

**Two Centuries before deadline**

Normally, when a soul's human essence died, it would pass on directly to the spirit world, but for some reason, this one hesitated, lingering in the medium. Her threads were divided, pulling her in different directions. One of the parent threads was in the spiritual world while the other was preparing to be reborn on earth. The souls of her earthly siblings were also divided; the boy had rushed off to the spirit world to join their father, but her sister, her closest friend could not bear to depart from the earth side until her children and grandchildren had grown.

Caught in the middle, the young soul did not know what to do. Should she sink back to earth again and join her mother and sister? Should she let her spirit rise up to heaven to fight alongside the males of her family? Would they even remember her? Remember the threads that they shared? Or would the effects of rebirth have already caught up with them, past lives fading and forgotten?

No, she would wait. She had to. There was plenty of time, no need to rush, and if they forgot their past, she would be here to remind them so they could go back to earth together once more, a family.

Yes, she would wait, her soul was brimming with determination. She would be the glue that kept her loved ones together. Loyalty was in her nature, and while she was curious about the spirit world and dying to learn more about the places on earth she had yet to see, she would not let her family fall apart for her own wishes to be granted. She would wait. As long as it took. She would wait.

**Two Years before deadline**

When she first saw him, she instantly knew something was different. She felt connected to him, pulled, and the surprise of seeing a golden thread not only coming out of _his_ chest but also finding it connected to hers surprised her so much that she didn't even notice which way he ran off to after he kicked her ball back.

Not that she had trouble finding him again.

She sought him out, trying to understand what the golden cord meant. She liked mysteries, or solving them anyways, like taking secretes out of the dark corners they were kept.

But the boy didn't seem interested. He was cold and distant, though he seemed like that with everyone. Uninterested.

She saw a grey-brown thread appear when his phone blinked. It must have been a message from his parents telling him to come home for he immediately took off walking, following the path of that grey-brown string.

She grabbed his arm, an instinct to stop him, and pulled some lame excuse about it being a bad idea to go that way because of… traffic and all.

That was the first time he looked at her, really looked, and she fought the heat that pooled to her cheeks, thinking all the while it was so _lame_ to be caught blushing over some boy.

He studied her closely, and for a minute, she wondered if he could see the threads too, but his eyes weren't focusing on the place near her heart where the threads originated. No, he was looking at her face, listening to her bumbling over excuses and traffic reports, watching as that pink stain spread over the bridge of her nose and tingled near her ears.

"Will you be coming to the game tomorrow?" she asks, looking for a change in the conversation.

He shrugs. "Who knows."

..

He sat on the sun-baked tile of the roof watching the exchange. White hair bristled in the breeze as he idly tapped his finger against his leg. Nose wrinkling in disgust, he listened to the glorified buffoon strut around the grassy field.

"You babies think ya can handle the big boys, eh?"

The four teammates that cowered behind the dark-haired girl seemed very certain about their own demise, but their ringleader hardly seemed fazed. Hand on her hip, she appeared more annoyed at the older boys' attempts at intimidation. Her hands twitched, eager to put upperclassman in their place.

"Because nothing screams big and bad like threatening a group of kids." Her sharp eyes narrowed. "I bet you love bragging about _that_ accomplishment. What's next? Stealing toys from a baby?"

"Tough talk for such a puny girl."

Another player snickered. "Is she even a girl? My kid-brother is prettier than she is." The other uniforms echoed his catcall, jeering at the girl in the crooked baseball hat.

"I'd rather be a puny girl than a brain-dead ape" she growled in frustration. "At least I don't have to bully other kids to get practice time on the field."

"Aw, wittle snot-nosed, bugger bear gonna run home cryin' to mama cause she can't get any field time."

The girl growled clenching her fists. "You're the one who's going to be crying when we kick your sorry butts across the field." She looked mad enough to hold up to that promise.

The older boys sneered. "No respect for their betters, eh Shinji? Let's put these little punks in their place."

The girl ripped the ball from the older boy's hands. "Brains before ugly. We get to kick off first."

Up on the hot roof, teal eyes watched the scene unfold. There was something off about that girl, something different, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

There were questions he needed to ask her. Had she sensed the hollow the day before or had she merely been trying to detain him for what, to convince him to play on her soccer team? Though one look at the competition, and it was obvious that the rag-tag team could use all the help they could get.

This was ridiculous, he huffed. He was a shinigami, a _captain_. It was his job to protect the oblivious humans from hollows, to perform soul burials on the deceased, to keep his division up and running and prevent Matsumoto from going over the deep end. Not to entertain children by kicking a checkered ball around.

Yet here he was, rising to his feet, already leaping to the next building to retrieve his gigai.

**Two Months before deadline**

She was standing in her brother's empty bedroom. How long had it been? Months? Years? It was hard to say. A cloak of dust covered everything, his alarm clock, his desk, those playboy magazines he kept hidden under the bed.

If he was coming back, he would have already been here by now.

It was time to pack up his old stuff into boxes, move the clothes from his adolescence into the garage, or the attic, or a storage unit just so they wouldn't have to see it every day. It was time for her and Yuzu to start living in separate rooms; they weren't exactly little girls anymore, and the space was beginning to feel crowded.

But she couldn't get herself to move. She could stand there, staring at the gaudy green curtains and moth-eaten blue comforter, but she couldn't get herself to move. A desk, a bed, a closet, it really was a small room.

This was her third attempt at the room, and she was making about the same amount of progress as the last two times. She just couldn't bring herself to do it, clear out her brother's stuff. It was like giving up, admitting that he was never coming home. She had held on the longest these past few years, refusing to throw in the towel, refusing to accept that he was, she swallowed, hard, that he was gone.

His thread was still there, barely. It was thin, easily severed, but still present. It didn't mean he was alive, not by a long shot. She had seen humans attached to their deceased relatives—Orihime was a shining example of that one—all it meat was that his soul still existed in one form or another, was still bound to hers.

She sighed, backpedaling out of the room. Not yet. She couldn't give up yet. Yuzu's thread had almost faded completely, her father's too, but she couldn't walk down that road, couldn't let the last tie her brother had for home fade away. She would be his anchor, holding him steady, hoping and hoping that whatever forces were keeping him away could be overcome.

..

He sighed, head bent in frustration. Another hour spent on the practice field wasted. He was no closer to mastering this change in his reiatsu as he was before; in fact, he was starting to suspect that it was only getting worse.

If the officers of his division noticed his increased reliance on his swordplay and on kiddo, they kept their comments to themselves. It had been over a week since he had called upon his shikai, and he had not dared to draw his bankai since the incident.

Matsumoto noticed. She had been his fukitaicho for years and knew his habits from his lunch breaks to his fighting style and would notice if something changed. Despite her typical eccentric behavior, she had always surprised him with her perceptiveness. Most of the time she used it to her advantage, striking her captain when she knew he was the most likely to go along with her antics or give into her begging. This sudden change in his usually strict routine caught her off guard.

So it really was no surprise that she had followed him.

Training field number fourteen had seen plenty of damage. Craters were littered everywhere, and due to its proximity to the ninth division, no one was surprised to hear the occasional explosion coming from the vicinity. Conveniently enough, the battle cries and screams of horror coming from the building nearby kept otherwise curious passersby from investigating the cause of the earthquakes. It was the ninth division after all, that in itself was explanation enough.

It had been why he had chosen this field. His own officers wouldn't look for him here, too terrified of Kenpatchi. None of the officers in the ninth division had enough brainpower to have any idea what he was up to (much less the diligence to spy on him when there was fights to be had), and none of the unranked shinigami would dare speak to him having learned through their captain to _never_ challenge or question what someone of clearly superior fighting skills was up to in their free time. Especially if they were on the training field, least they be used as a test subject.

The added bonus of being near the ninth division was that Matsumoto tended to get…distracted by all the muscle and testosterone and challenging opponents for a drinking contest.

Unfortunately today she seemed focused, interrupting his quiet meditation.

"Captain!"

"Hai Matusmoto. What do you want?"

"We have our own training grounds so why are you all the way out here?"

"Why do you care where I train?"

"You're my responsibility, and your acting weird has me all worried."

"Between the two of us, I'm not the one who needs a babysitter."

She did her best not to appear too insulted. This was just his way of pushing people away, putting them on the defensive, making them angry until they stomped off and left him in peace. She let the comment roll off her, used to jibes about her irresponsible behavior.

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you hiding?"

Instead of answering, he got to his feet staring her blank in the eye. The captain of the tenth division still was not as tall as his fukitaicho, but his eyes were just as sharp as hers. "And what are you hiding still wearing that pink scarf around?"

She reeled back as if slapped.

His eyes remained as sharp as steel, pinning her down. "Don't pry into my private life unless you want me prying into yours."

And without another word he spun on his heal, and marched away. Not looking back at his stunned lieutenant.

He didn't dare tell her that the large crater she was standing in was his. Didn't tell her that it had been caused by a small leakage of his spiritual pressure while he had been meditating. No, he refused to look back. They each had their demons, hers a pink scarf and a fox-faced man, and his… he clutched his hand…he had his too.

**Two Weeks before deadline**

"I got it!" she shouted leaping up from her math homework. The brunet punched the air victoriously at her brilliant idea.

"Got what?" asked her sister, spinning around in her chair.

"The perfect plan to get back at those guys for kicking me off the soccer team. It's perfect! I need to find Toshiro."

Her sister glanced at the clock on the wall. "Isn't it a bit late?" Her eyes were droopy with exhaustion, and a large yawn was threatening to overtake her.

Karin threw open the door to their shared bedroom. "Sorry Yuzu, but genus waits for no one." She bolted down the stairs, jumping the last few, and practically went flying out the front door.

Karin had never been a very creative individual, so it really was a surprise that such a masterpiece of pranks manifested itself to her of all people. Most humans couldn't see ghosts, and since her brother and his friends had gone off to "college" she was pretty sure she was the only one within a twelve mile radius that could see even the most basic of specters much less a reiatsu-suppressing captain. It was perfect, and she almost wondered why she didn't think of it before.

..

He eyed the envelope with a cool expression. Shingami were not supposed to feel fear. They were supposed to look death in the face, be willing to sacrifice the very essence of their souls, lay down their lives in the protection of others. Not cower in one's office.

Test results, that was all it was, just some test results. Blood samples, reiatsu typing, nothing fancy. So why was he so worried?

..

"Well if it isn't my favorite student! What are you doing up so late Karin-chan?"

"Can I borrow your trans-communicator. I need to talk to Toshiro…san." She added the formality to his name almost as an afterthought, as if she suddenly remembered whose company she was in. "Please Urahara-sensei, it's important!"

"But what if our darling little Toshiro-_san_ is not up at this hour?"

"Pshh, please. That workaholic is probably still up to his ears in paperwork."

"Point taken." The man with the striped hat began leading her to the back of the shop. "You owe me for this."

"Meh," she waved off the promises of favors, "put it on my tab."

He laughed, waving her into a room. "Very well, but if you break my beautiful machine, I'm afraid I will have to return the favor."

"Got it old man. Thanks."

Since her back was turned, she didn't notice the eyebrow twitch at her referring to him as an old man, and shutting the door for some privacy saved her from facing the wrath of an insulted former captain.

..

Decaying. His mind seemed stuck on that word. Disintegrating spiritual pressure. Demonic reiatsu poisoning. Hollofication.

Dying. That registered. He was dying.

How long, that was always the question. How long did he have left? How long had the symptoms been progressing? How long had he been fighting it off. How much longer did he have?

Unbidden, his feet carried him to the fourth division. It was after hours, closed to receiving visitors, but he was something of an exception. It was his sister in that room he stood outside, his sister in everyway but blood.

On the other side of the viewing window, a young woman stared blankly at the wall. Her hands were moving, slow circles, her lips opening and closing as if she was describing something, smiling at someone. At no one. A sister, a loved one, lost in a place he could never find her, lost in her own mind. Giving up when kindness gave up on her, leaving her brother to pick up the pieces, leaving her friends to sort through the mess she left behind.

"Coward." He whispered the word from behind the glass. "Coward," he spoke louder, condemning them both. She hid from reality, and he hid from her, hid his reality from everyone.

"I guess the world's full of them."

Would he end up like her? Giving up on life? It seemed tempting for a moment, letting someone else deal with the bad hand he had been given. Why not? He was going to die anyways.

His pocket buzzed scattering his thoughts. He pulled out his phone wondering who would be calling him at so late an hour. He stared at the green numbers, none of them registering. Earth. A call from earth.

Two flash steps later, he was standing on the roof of his division, a silver mobile device pressed to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked it tentatively.

"Toshiro!" The receiver was full of static, but he would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Karin?" he half-asked his phone, half-asked the voice on the other end, surprise lacing his tone.

She laughed, but through the static it came out all garbled and messy. "The one and only. Listen, I have a favor to ask…"

He groaned. "Another one. Really, if your team is that bad, then you should consider getting another one."

There was a moment of silence, and he feared he had somehow lost the connection. "Karin? Hello?"

"Yeah I'm here." He could hear her deep intake of breath. "They kicked me off the team."

He started, feeling like a fist was clenching in his gut. With bad news, when it rains, it certainly pours. The things they had to sacrifice to those who weren't even in touch enough with their spiritual essences to realize they even needed saving. It was almost heart wrenching.

She kept talking, a mile a minute and picking up speed, as if she was trying to get it all out in one breath. "So I was thinking about how to get back at those losers, and I came up with this perfect prank that's going to knock their socks off. You see since they can't see ghosts, I thought it would be a great way to pull a number on them, and I know how good you are at hiding your spiritual pressure, just in case, but this would be such a huge favor for me, and I would really appreciate it if you could help. I know you're busy and all, but Matsumoto-san said you were bound to get some time off, overdo I think she said, and since you'll be coming here anyways to check on Granny-Chiyo—"

"Wait, wait, slow down, I can barely understand you." The static certainly wasn't helping either.

"Please, please, please can you help me prank those guys!"

The youngest captain sighed, listening as the rush of air caused a resulting buzzing sound in his ear. Why did she insist on dragging him into her childish schemes? What good would come of this so called prank? Revenge was petty and hardly self-satisfying. The girl on the other line was old enough to know better.

But then…_'please'_… she never asked for favors either.

He was silent for a long moment, staring at the moon and listening to the buzz of static in his ear. What path would he choose? Retreat like his sister into a world of her own imagination? Drown his sorrows in sake like his lieutenant? Get even with those who dealt him this nightmare like the dark haired girl from the human plane? Or, perhaps a different path of his own choosing?

..

Karin held on to the receiver, the hum of static reassuring her that he had not hung up yet. He was thinking; she could practically see the way his eyes would glaze over, focusing on some distant point like the moon or the stars, his anchors of thought. Interrupting wouldn't help her cause, as she had learned through previous trial and error. He needed time to weigh the pros and cons for something that was not as instinctual as unsheathing his sword.

Finally, after the patient minutes had ticked by, the line buzzed, and her grip on the receiver tightened.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do."

..

He winced, holding the phone away from his ear as she let out a very girlly, and very uncharacteristic squeal. Well, maybe not a squeal (that came from the part of his mind in which he categorized the fan girls which followed him around—not Karin) but at the very least it was a very high-pitched whoop of excitement that left his ears ringing and a small smile tugging on his lips.

**Two Days before deadline**

Karin blinked when she entered the cafeteria. All the work she and Jinta had been putting into the project had been completed. The strobe lights had been rewired, the shaving cream filled water balloons had been set, the streamers packed, the banner positioned, the trigger artfully, and meticulously centered in the optimal position.

It was just as she had envisioned.

But it was not her hands that had done this. They had been running behind schedule, struggling to get everything in place before the day of the big game with their rival school, and Karin had just began to admit that maybe this wasn't going to work out the way she wanted. She had spent most of the afternoon deciding what projects needed to be abandoned in favor of those that they _could_ complete on time and certainly had not been happy with her conclusions.

But _this_. Who had done this?

..

He stood outside the General's office, waiting for his turn to speak with the first division captain. Also to collect a certain "package."

It was still early in the morning, the air crisp, the grass laden with dew. It was his favorite time of day, when the world seemed freshest and cleanest and opportunity seemed its finest.

It was a bit of a strange sight to see the crimson-haired shinigami up and about this early, but Renji had been assigned to him by Captain Yamamoto to help him carry out his mission. He and Yuri would be opening the portal to Las Noches for him, stabilizing it until he was through. Then, it would be there task to destroy it ensuring that no one would be coming in after him and nothing would be getting out.

Alone, that is how he wanted it. No one else but him. No one would die but him.

The bamboo door to the General's office slid open, and the two shinigami stepped inside, Renji standing slightly behind the tenth captain. He was backup, reinforcement. He needed the details, the bare outline not the story or motive.

The first division captain sat straight in his chair. Despite his age, or perhaps because of it, the aura that surrounded him was potent, wrapped tightly about his iron-clad will. He did not blink as they entered nor did he bow his head in acknowledgement.

"Enjoy your time off Hitsuguya-taicho?" asked the wizened shinigami.

The younger shinigami nodded. "I did."

It was strange the things he sought out towards the end of his existence: pranking human children, rebuilding his grandmother's house only to tear it down, visiting his favorite places in the Rukongai (there weren't many), and leaving many of his old possessions for the less fortunate to find. He still had his phone, his sword, his haori, but there wasn't much else.

"Are you ready to fulfill this task?"

"I am."

An old woman appeared from seemingly nowhere. A small, square object wrapped delicately in tissue paper rested in the cradle of her arms. She handed it to the boy with snow-colored hair as if it were an infant passing between them.

"Do not touch it," she murmured, "until the time is right, and then only with your demon hand and only briefly."

Reaching into her obi, she pulled out a small scroll that looked as old and as ancient as she did herself. It was sealed with a thick layer of black way, the kanji for hope stamped deeply into the black seal.

"This will tell you what you must do when you reach the dark gates," spoke the old woman, "For your eyes only, destroy it when you are finished least your work be undone."

He nodded, sliding the scroll inside his haori where it rested firmly against his chest.

"It will steal your soul," the woman said, "your life energy, but the box will be closed, the demons made pure. The balance of the guardians will be made pure once more, their souls will be set free." She bowed at him, deeply, her nose nearly brushing the floor. "Peace will be ours once more."

He swallowed, uncomfortable with the gesture of respect, and returned her bow, though not nearly as deeply nor as long. When he straightened, the general caught his eye and made a slight nod of his head. This shocked the tenth division captain more than anything else. Never had he seen captain Yamamoto so much as incline his head towards any of his subordinates, and he suspected the man had not done so in centuries. Quickly, he bowed again at his commander, Renji following suit.

The pair retreated, backpedaling out the way they came until the bamboo door shut behind them. For a moment, they exchanged incredulous looks having both been caught off-guard by the General's admission.

"What now?" Renji thought out loud.

Hitsuguya felt the leathery paper of the ancient scroll brush against his chest. "Now, we prepare for what lies ahead." He turned intent on returning to the privacy of his own barracks before opening his latest acquisition. "Until tomorrow."

"Wait! Hitsuguya!" called the taller man. "You still don't have to do this. They're giving you a choice y'know."

"I know," he said, "but I never asked for one."

A flash of shunpo, and he was gone.

"Damn," mumbled the red-haired lieutenant, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably, "I wonder if Matsumoto knows."

"Knows what?" came a feminine voice before a _very_ well-endowed woman leapt down from the roof, landing in front of her fellow vice captain. "Do I know what my little taicho is up to? No, I have no idea, but I get the feeling _someone_ is going to tell me unless _he_ wants me to beat it out of them."

"Hey, hey," he raised his hands defensively, "no need for violence."

Blue eye were sharp and pierced right through him, a mask of determination that booked no room for resistance or compromise. "Spill."

The other lieutenant sighed. Hitsuguya was going to be pissed at him for this.

**Two Hours before deadline**

He watched her from the rooftop, watched her charge after hollows in his stead. She was strong, resilient, She didn't need him.

Human. She would grow, she would change, and after tonight, when she didn't have to fight monsters any more, she would be free.

Free from fighting monsters, free from bearing loads that were not her own, free from shinigami, free from that ugly responsibility, free to rejoin her teammates, her classmates, her friends. Free to be normal.

Free to forget him, free to move on.

Deep down, if he dared admit it to himself, he didn't want her to forget everything. He wanted, selfishly, to be remembered, and not just by anyone, but by her.

But moving on, growing up, living—that was inevitable. It was one of the things he admired about humans, how they changing, molding, adapting, rallying against challenges, and growing when growth was needed. He was already doomed to become a faded memory, a bittersweet recollection, and she would change and grow, bit by bit, living, learning, without him. In time…in time she would learn to care for someone else. Someone much more alive than he was.

Ichigo would look out for her, or Kuchki, she owed him after all, or Matsumoto, because in between the anger and tears and everything, she still promised. And he trusted her, completely, desperately, to keep it, and knew that his trust was not in vain.

Promises, hope, trust, it would have to be enough.

The figure rose from his crouched position in the shadows, moonlight revealing a face that was young, boyish, and yet somehow quite old. No captain's jacket tonight, no black robes. His outfit was plain and white, not designed to blend in with the silhouettes of the night.

But it would help him to blend in somewhere else.

Black energy swirled around him as he called upon his reiatsu. The demonic presence, the taint of darkness, was getting stronger, and his left hand always burned fiercely whenever he reached for it.

Humans, had any been passing by, would have instinctively altered their route as their sense of danger prickled. Visible or not, anyone within a three mile radius would feel the prickling sensation on the back of their neck, a chill down their spine, goose bumps on their skin, such was the dreaded presence of beasts of the underworld.

And the box. He blamed the box most of all. This amplification of demonic aura, had he been any less capable, any less powerful, anything less than what he was, he would have long been ripped to shreds, his soul splintered, his face covered with a hard white mask. But he was Hitsuguya, captain of the tenth division, more than strong and more than capable for this task.

He raised his arm, fingers replaced by gruesome black claws, skin turning into sharp, ebony scales that flaked off as he adjusted his sleeve. The smell of blood, the smell of death, filled the air, and the boy grit his teeth biting back the vicious pain.

Souls, whole souls, were not meant to sign contracts with hell. Pain, agonizing, excruciating, but he hadn't expected anything different.

With a slash of claws and scales, the air ripped like a fabric being cut, a black seam expanding in the sky. The seam widened, stretching outward like a bat opening its wings.

The air tasted like dead roses, and his gut turned at the gruesome sounds arising from the portal he made. Demons growling in anticipation, victims wrapped in chains, partial souls drifting with mind-numbing expressions, tearing at their own flesh, sucking their own blood with crazed eyes. Jagged screams tore into the night, the tortured souls of hell, and although the boy's cool expression did not falter, his eyes grimaced.

Faster than the human eye could follow, the boy vanished, the seam ripping closed behind him. One moment there, one moment gone.

The inhabitants of the area breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing now that the demonic presence was gone. The shadows didn't feel nearly so threatening now, and they didn't know why they had been so afraid before. The people of the small town of Karakura slept peacefully that night, a sense of security rolling over them like a blanket.

..

A dark haired mortal girl was leading a troupe of spectral beings through monster-infected streets. Their destination was clear: a quaint candy shop on the corner of Barnes Street and seventy-second avenue. As they passed through one of the sketchier regions of town, it was clear that the girl was serving as both a guide to the small entourage and also a guard. She ushered the transparent spirits along, urging them to quicken their pace while firing off the occasionally energy bullet at the more daring of the white masked fiends stalked after the party.

It was a strange sight indeed: large beasts sporting hideous white masks, a small group of souls hurrying away from the mindless frenzy, and the mortal girl whose fingertips were alight with energy as she disposed of the attackers with cool efficiency. Her air was almost of that of detachment as if her mind were elsewhere, and while indeed her blows were swift, her shots lethal, the spirit of fight seemed absent, the usual determined expression absent.

Her body stood still as the others passed her, now within sight of their destination, but the girl made no move to follow. Hands fell to her side as the creatures nearest her backpedaled, retreating into the shadows of alleys and the darkness of man's hearts.

There was a legend, her teacher told her, of the birth of such creatures. Back when the earth was young and the heavens were peaceful, a great darkness came and spread across the land. Humans, vulnerable and unable to see it, were easily infected. They became hosts, the darkness feeding off the ills of their hearts. Love turned to jealousy, jealousy into envy, envy into hate, hate into rage, and rage into madness. Souls were turned this way, corrupted and consumed by the dark plague of grief and sin, and the darkness gained power. And from power, it drew its followers. The blackened hearts twisted into dust leaving behind a hole, a hollow, in one's chest. The monsters, the demons, the consumers of spirits and souls—once souls themselves, betrayed by their own hearts.

As the girl's eyes traveled up the clock tower, she wondered of her own fate. Would her heart, now beaten and crushed, would it too dissolve into dust?

Brown orbs settled on a desolate looking figure, balancing on the railing with the ease of a tightrope walker. A man, well dressed. A black suite and a hot hat. Yellow teeth behind a sickly smile, he swept into a graceful bow, tilting his hat in a disrespectful, mocking manner.

The girl clenched her teeth standing her ground. No, she decided, her heart would not fade into dust; she was a Kurosaki, a breed made of stronger stuff. She fought against the swelling panic, against the knowledge that not only was this an opponent beyond her capacities to handle but also one who was already supposed to be _dead_. She had seen his body disintegrate in Toshiro's explosion.

She schooled her expression into one of calm and doused her frenzied thoughts to the back of her mind. _Later_. _Worry about logic later._

The man leapt from his perch, his arms spread wide like an eagle. Polished, gentleman's shoes landed on the pavement with a feather-light touch, his grin Cheshire like a cat ready to pounce.

"Greetings chica? A bit late in the evening for a lady to be strolling about _unguarded_."

"What do you want?" The teen returned sharply. Energy pooled around her feet, ready to spring as needed. There would be no white-haired hero this time.

"I want what every self-respecting man wants," he drawled conversationally, "a good paying job, the chance to see the world, and, of course, a particular sort of company to, ahem, pass time with."

The girl hoped the group of souls she had been escorting had enough time to make it to the candy shop by now, but she kept talking to give them more time. "As much as I would love to be your _entertainment_, I am actually rather busy at the moment—"

"No little nina, it is you who misunderstands me. Tonight I come for business, not for pleasure."

Karin swallowed. Would this be how she would die? In the middle of the road, mile from home? Who would tell her family? What poor soul would find her body? Yuzu would cry, and Dad and Ichigo… would her death bring him home? It was sad that it had to come to that, but maybe it would be the one thing to save her tattered family, as grief pulled them together instead of pushing them apart.

"I know what you _are_ chica. You cannot hide before me. Though your flesh be mortal, your spirit is hardly so ordinary. I _smell you_ through that bag of bones. Guardian, they have hidden you well."

"Guardian?" Confusion laced her voice. "What are you talking about?"

"At the birth of this homely little planet, the guardian spirit was made to protect the world from imbalance.

"Imbalance," he gestured at his own person, "comes in many forms; anarchy, chaos, things that would lead to the destruction of that world. Guardians prevent imbalances from having free reign, from becoming the dominant power in a world.

"For a long time, you kept the world balanced, not peace but not war, neither limitless joy nor bottomless sorrow. Indeed, you were rather cleaver about it, creating and end to life, giving your subjects mortality, ensuring that happiness was never pure nor pain unending. Clever. Until the Shingami came.

"I am uncertain of their origin, but these powerful beings capable of setting the world in imbalance. You had no choice; you had to split your soul. One part to went to heaven to keep an eye on these shinigami and one part to earth to dwell amongst the mortals.

"But being split weakened you to the laws of mortality and regeneration. Through the passage of time, you lost sight of your past, your powers, your true identity. Effectively, you became human.

"They tried to hide you, protect you through the flesh of man, but I found you at last. Your spirit cannot hide from me."

For a moment, a long moment, the girl was silent, contemplating his words. It was true that her powers were different, a far cry from what might be considered traditional of the shinigami, but she was nowhere near the power of the captains or even the vice-captains. Did she seek balance? Yes, in a way. She balanced her school, her friends, her duty to defend the town. She tried to balance her family, tried so very hard to keep them all together. But she failed. All across the board, she failed. And quite frankly, now that she thought about it, she really _didn't care_ if things got out of wack or didn't follow the plan or work out just right. She _didn't care_ about balance. She cared about her family. She cared about soccer. She cared about Toshiro and protecting her friends and defending her town and making sure hollows didn't eat her sister in her sleep.

"Your wrong." She spoke with conviction, without even a hint of doubt.

There was someone who was willing to sacrifice his family, say goodbye to those he cared about. He was friends with humans and hollows and shinigami alike. His reiatsu was near bottomless, regenerating faster than he used it, who started off human but was also a shinigami, also a hollow. He was obsessed with order and balance, with justice. Good was good, bad was bad, straightforward and simple and easy. He followed his instincts even if it meant leaving his family and friends behind, even if it meant playing for the wrong team.

Her brother, her Ichigo—she always knew he was something else.

"It is a shame you still posses a child's mind. Youth makes you unprepared."

"I am not a child." Karin huffed indignantly.

Black beady eyes gleamed at her from underneath the brim of a hat. "When you are as old as I, even the guardians look like infants."

Her gaze swept over greasy black hair and an unlined face. "You hardly look old."

He shook his head laughing. "Oh mortals! Using only their eyes! Ha. Ha." His gaze shifted to the candy shop before centering back on her. "But I have little time to digress; perhaps some other time. Now, chica, on to business.

"I come bearing a message from my master, my maker, Lord over the darkness, the cruelest of the cruel. He speaks of the little dragon's death. He is the key that turns the lock, yet it is she, the niña who _sees_, who grasps the handle. You can withdraw him. You can save him. My master asks that you do."

"I _can't_," she choked. Did he really think she hadn't _tried_. She pulled and pulled, but he hadn't budged. She couldn't even go to him; that wall between worlds wouldn't let her pass.

The gentleman's shoulders stiffened, the fake little smile dropping from his face. He leaned forward as if to whisper in her ear, and it took all of Karin's willpower not to flinch or leap away. He smelled like old paint and dead roses, and she wrinkled her nose in disgusted as stale breath tingled the hairs in her ear.

"Have you tried drawing your sword?"

She blinked, and suddenly she was staring at an empty street. The bells of the clock tower began their hourly sonata, chiming the hour. A stripped grey cat crossed the street, its green eyes appearing to glow. It flicked its tail in her direction, irritated at the girl's presence, before continuing on its way.

"Karin-chan?" It was the shopkeeper's voice. "Are you alright?" He sounded concerned.

"I'm fine." She didn't turn to face him. Her expression, she didn't trust it right now, and the brunet really was not feeling up to playing another round of questions and vague answers. "I got to go."

Without another word, she wrapped her hand around the closest string, Yuzu's, and gave it a careful pull. Zipping through space, her mind felt numb.

_Have you tried drawing your sword?_

**Two Minutes before deadline**

She walked into her house. All the lights were off, the kitchen and living room were empty. Even though she knew she didn't have much time, she couldn't help but pause, her eyes floating around the room taking everything in. The old couches, the large than life poster of her mother, Yuzu's favorite yellow cup left on the counter. The large table, always ready for more guests and bearing the rambunctious lot with impressive fortitude. The doorway to her dad's office, something that had always been an unspoken off-limits.

Fingers stretched towards the photographs on the shelf, wanting to trace the outline of those smiling faces, but she pulled up short, shaking her head and remembering the task at hand.

The stairs. How many times had she run up and down those? How many times had the jumped the last three when she was running late? How many times had she skirted around the squeaky step, second from the top, when she was sneaking out? She walked up them this time, one hand dusting the handrail, a goodbye touch.

Her mind was set, her intentions clear, but that didn't mean she had any idea what would happen. Tearing a hole through space was one thing, but tearing a person?

Still, she had to try. She made her silent goodbyes though, just in case.

..

Indeed his flesh was pink and his blood was red. He could only dodge so much without putting the box and the seal array at risk, and he dared not use any of his reiatsu on the off chance he blew the area up before his task was complete.

When they finally had him pinned down, arguments broke out over who was going to eat what part of him, who got the honor of the killing blow, and so forth. An impatient bird species was knowing on his shoulder, and when the bull-mask hollow noticed, and obliterated the usurper, a whole new round of arguments, intermingled with physical brawls, broke out anew.

The boy coughed, holding as still as he was able. Breathing was painful, and he was sure he had cracked at least a few ribs. The world spun for a minute as he was jerked upward by his ankle, dangled like a ragdoll. He grit his teeth, doing his best to keep his stomach contents where they were.

"_**No, I eat his legs. They make me faster**_" growled the one holding his ankle, shaking the shinigami for emphasis.

"_**You cannot have both legs!**_" shouted a shorter, insect-like hollow.

"_**Nahuel is the strongest so Nahuel gets what he wants**_" bellowed his captor.

"_**Fine,**_" said the bull-mask, "_**Keep his legs, but **_**I**_** get his arms and neck.**_"

There were cries of outraged by the rest of the group. "_**Greedy bastard**_" "_**Why you get the choice cuts when it was I who pinned him down?**_" "_**I say no meat for him with no manners.**_"

The grip around his ankle tightened. "_**Nahuel agrees.**_"

The number and volume of the angry shouts only increased, until a snake-like hollow wormed into the group's center. She flicked out her tongue, and the rest were silenced. "_**The strongest choose first, as is their right. Nahuel gets the legs, Rorjesh takes his arms. Next is I and I shall take his heart.**_"

Her golden eyes, sharp and cold, found his. "_**I shall be his killer. I shall be his mask-maker.**_"

**Two Seconds before deadline**

A room for two sisters sat dark and silent as the edges of night crept amongst it keepers. Sisters, twins, bound to one another by fate, yet so different. In olden days it was believed that twins shared a soul, but this pair was hardly identical; they were not destined to be a matched set. Differences set them apart, like night and day. Only the bonds of family, of love kept them close, the ties of sisters.

Two girls could never be more different. Even the moon observed this, a room, a shared space cut into two equal parts, so separate, so different, so peculiar. The stars, hanging by their window, had watched the pair grow and change, one by leaps and bounds, one slowly and sweetly. One had hardened while the other softened. One growing strong for the other's sake, the other _being_ strong, truly strong, when her sister's back was turned. Protection, an instinct they shared. Determination, hereditary.

Destiny? So very, very different.

These two had been sisters for the eight lifetimes they had shared on earth. Fates had been twined together, twisted, touching, but they had never been the same, were never meant to be the same.

Dark grey eyes gazed at the golden thread protruding from her chest. When she had first started seeing the threads, back when she had wondered over the mystery of her golden friend, it seemed like such a pure color.

Now, finally, grey eyes could see all of the colors, so many, so different, all the different things that tied them together. Green friendship, yellow trust, orange crush, and pink love. Light threads and dark threads all woven together to form a glowing golden rope. Beautiful. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

The girl, the teenager, the woman with strong grey eyes stepped out of her human body for the last time. She knew what she needed to do.

Reaching for the sword on her hip, she released a silver blade. It danced in the moonlight and stars and she sang its name, its true name, its full name, the name that meant everything.

It was not a mortal name like Karin, its wielder, it was celestial, imperishable. It was a song, the song of everything, of life, of death, of struggle and meaning, a language beyond what humans were capable of hearing.

'_Ryu…'_

And everything that it meant, everything that it stood for, everything it defined from its beginning to its end stretching forth in purpose, came to this. This moment, this _girl_, this wielder, and yet so much more. It had waited for this, thirsted for it, had sang her song, her _name_, and finally, _finally_, the time had come, the chorus returned, the call, she _called_…

If blades could speak, whispers beyond what their wielders could discern, this particular weapon would have only had one thought as it was unsheathed: _'Finally.'_

Arching her blade, a metal that had never tasted blood or felt the sweat of its wielder's palms yet moved with the grace of water sliding against silk, the girl twirled in a circle. Ribbons of blue and green, yellow and orange, brown and violet and black fell before her, limp against her side. How easily they cut.

She sang her sword's name with tears in her eyes, knowing her twin, her beloved sister would never hear her, would never see what she had done.

One last thread, sky blue. The moon and stars watched the bond formed centuries ago finally come to an end, two sisters, parted eternally.

She did not cry, her eyes watered, threatened to spill, but she had no time left, no breath, no energy to spare.

The clung to the one thread left, the golden rope, and pulled with everything she had, everything she was worth, promised the heavens, the deities, the devils, gave them _everything_, her soul, her spirit, her memories, her love. She gave up soccer and her friends, gave up school and her dreams and ambitions, gave up her family, her father, her brother, her sister, her _mother_, gave up her humanity, her morality, her strength, her courage, her doubts, her fears, her love, her life, her everything that made her Karin…

'_I won't let you die for me.'_

…and pulled.

..

The boy, the captain, the shinigami, the man who bled into the sands of the black desert and bore no resentment to his attackers, merely disappointed resignation, felt a sudden pull on his navel, felt his body sliding backwards on the hot, blood-soaked sands, felt his eyes widening in surprise.

'_What—?"_

The seal array around the small black box begin to glow, white-hot angry energy, pulsing and beating and trashing. The white haired shinigami blinked against the sudden brightness, raising his hand to shield his eyes.

The box was opening.

He was going to die here; he knew it, knew it from the moment the box's existence was made known. He had filled their request, had traversed the lands of the soul eaters, he painted the seal of heaven and the seal of hell, fed the thing his demonic reiatsu, soaked it his blood, watched it slowly devour his spiritual energy, watched it turn a death god into a meek pedestrian.

He had done it all of his own free will. _He_ had sealed the gates. _He_ had made sure no soul, damned or otherwise, was getting out and no foolhardy rescue was coming in.

He still felt that tug, felt his feet dragging, sand sliding into his shoes, but he didn't care to fight it. So what if a hollow ate him now. In a few seconds, it wouldn't matter.

The true death, the last death, the final death of a soul, he was not afraid to face it. It was the acceptance of finality. The freedom of silence, of nothingness, of completion, it was calm peaceful. He felt light and free as the wave of light washed over him and he was dragged out of the plane of existence.

..

**A/N:** Only "One" to go. Anyone else excited? I promise this next update won't take nearly so long.

Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Anything you are dying to tell me? Please leave a review and let me know what's on your mind.

.


	5. One

**Author's Note:** This is the last chapter of this story. It has been quite the adventure, and I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Do I plan on writing a sequel? Maybe, but what with school starting up, I doubt that will be in the near future.

I wanted to write a story about Toshiro and Karin that did them justice. They are amazing characters both in their own right. Karin is not the damsel in distress type (even if she does occasionally need to be rescued) nor is she all-powerful. The same holds true for Toshiro. They are incredibly complex both in their actions and inactions, and while I wanted my story to be centered around their relationship, I did not want them to be _defined_ by that relationship but rather their own faults and merits.

I hope, in this last installment, I did them justice.

**One Second after deadline**

"_Ne, why do you always come here?"_

These moments…

_The boy looked up from his phone, eye glimmering in the setting sun.. "It's the best place I can find to watch the sky."_

…are so precious.

_The golden wash of light made his skin appear to glow, beautiful and unearthly like an angel fallen from the heavens. "It brings back memories."_

And time…

_She would never forget that touch; a gentle brush along her cheek, fingers softly tucking back her hair. His eyes, so filled with concern, looked almost green under the dim light of the street lamp. One arm under her knees, another on her back, and her hands were wrapping around his neck. She would never forget that moment._

…with you…

_She rarely got hurt, and it was always so embarrassing for anyone to see her this way, so weak, so _vulnerable_, still a little girl needing protection. She had gotten so much stronger since those childhood days. She didn't need a guardian angel watching out for her, and yet…_

…means everything to me.

_And yet, she loved it when he carried her, loved the ways his arms wrapped around her, gentle, warm, safe. _

Now it was her arms wrapped around him, black hair spilling over white. Her black hoodie, his white dress shirt, a tangled mess of limbs, ending where the other started, inseparable. Like yin and yang, they belonged together, the half, the whole, the disaster yet the perfection.

He had never truly understood. She was not after love or happiness or lifetime guarantees. She wasn't chasing promises he couldn't keep; she was chasing him. She didn't want closure; she wanted completion. No goodbyes, never goodbye, she wouldn't let him.

All she wanted. Him. Just him. Her golden thread, her partner, her best friend, her so much more. And he was here, and she wouldn't let him go.

.

He felt as though he had been run over by a train. His head swum, and spots danced before his eyes. It was difficult to focus on much of anything, where he was, how he got here. He blinked trying to wad his way through the confusing, hazy cloud back to reality.

Something was latched to his torso, binding him in place. It was confusing, and yet, and yet, it felt like home.

He swept ebony hair out his face, smiling softly.

**One Minute after deadline**

He looked at her completely flabbergasted, and she couldn't help but smile at his expression. It was so rare that he was caught so completely off guard.

"H-how?" he stuttered.

Her smile turned into a laugh. "Really Toshiro? I'm a Kurosaki. I'd have thought that by now you would have learned to expect the unexpected"

.

He didn't know when they started kissing exactly, just that he never wanted it to stop. Warm lips pressed against his, hot breath in his ear, hands tangled in her hair, heat pooling between them, needing her as much as she needed him, needing her touch, her skin, her smell, not wanting to waste time with breathing.

Saving her, saving him, that was all that mattered.

**One Hour after deadline**

She stood outside her father's house, knowing this was goodbye. Her clothes were packed, her backpack zipped shut, a quick note left on the kitchen table. It should have been harder than it was, but she no longer had any ties here, all those threads had been cut.

A boy with white hair stood at her shoulder, his presence warm and solid, comforting despite his silence. It was weird seeing him in her brother's old clothes, but he couldn't stay in that strange white outfit and she wasn't quite ready to see him walking around naked. She wasn't a particular fan of the hat, but his white hair would draw way too much attention to themselves, and attention is the last thing they needed.

It had been hard, stitching him back together, and she had never been that good at knitting. The black parasite had stuck to him like glue, tearing apart the tiny spiritual threads that held his essence together, but she had finally prevailed, pulling the accursed leach off. From there, it had been delicate work, weaving his soul back in place.

At first when the impossible task lay out before her, she despaired. How on earth could she fix him? He was fading before her eyes, the threads escaping into nothing.

She was going to lose him.

No, her mind, her heart, screamed, arms wrapping tightly around the bundles that remained. _'No.'_

'_Karin,_' her sword spoke. The soft voice sent waves of comfort through her, like a hand gently squeezing her shoulder. '_Perhaps I can help._'

She was terrified of messing him up, or ruining him, but Ryu, the spirit of her zanpackto, was there, guiding her. Together, they fed the strings her life energy, keeping them solid. Together, they reconnected the pieces. Together, they brought back they boy they loved.

In the end, it was the gold thread that saved him. The strongest of strings, bearing the least damage, and the most willing to regrow, most willing to accept her strength, her energy, trusting her when the other connections did not.

It was amazing what she could see now that her sword had been released. Not just the threads that bound people together, but the threads that connected everything, the weave of wind through the grass, the ties between the squirrel and his tree. Everything was connected, tied together so irrevocably, so completely in ways she could never hope to describe. It was all she could do not to blatantly stare at her surroundings and gasp at the simplest of things. Threads, energy, life, it was a design so incredibly complicated and still, somehow, unbelievably simple like something she had always been able to _feel_ but was just now beginning to see.

She could see her family would get along fine without her. Safer, perhaps, now that her reiatsu wouldn't be so near. The house would be a little emptier, the rooms a little quieter, another empty chair at the table.

They had been a family once, a blessing of five. In a way, they would always be a family, by blood, by century old connections, by past and history and love and lifetimes of shared experiences. But souls came in pairs. Not fives, not fours. Twos.

Reaching behind her, she grasped the boy's hand. Tugging on it softly, the pair walked away.

She didn't regret it. Somehow, she always knew it would happen, but she had been stubborn for so long, refusing to believe her family was meant to go separate ways. Her brother, her father, her mother, her sister—a fighter, a leader, a lover, a dreamer—all so different. How had such souls ever come together? How had they stayed together as long as they had?

An anchor.

She was not that girl anymore. From the air rushing down her throat to the tingling in her toes to the excitement and air of adventure that pulled on her lips and quickened her step, from the hand holding hers to the heart beating in her chest, she was free.

Free. Free. Free.

A smile too big to fit her face, a heart too wild to be tamed. Bright courage, promises seen till the end, and a new world to face that was just hers. Free, free, free. A spirit unbroken, a harness broken, a life unchained. A hand in hers.

Free. Free. Free.

.

He still hadn't figured out how she had done it, was still at a loss for words.

He was always a planner, thinking ten steps ahead, but he felt lost at this unpredictable twist. He had not counted on being alive, of returning relatively unscathed, and now he hardly knew what to do with himself and was reduced to simply obeying the tug on his hand, the command of her voice.

He should go back; he was still obligated to report back in to General Yamamoto, still had his duties for the tenth division.

Except he didn't. Except everyone thought he was dead. He was supposed to be dead.

He couldn't explain his current state without dragging Karin into the mess, and even then, he wasn't entirely sure how to describe that either. But then if he did that, it would only be opening up another can of worms when it came to the general's attention that there was _another_ human with high spiritual pressure, triggering another investigation, which would inevitably lead to Mayuri attempting to kidnap her, and on and on it went.

And what did he have to go back for? His duties? Without hollows to fight and humans to defend what would become of the shinigami? Janitors performing the occasional soul burial? The police force cleaning up the streets of the Rukongai?

Who did he have to go back to? His grandmother was dead, and he, himself, burned down his childhood home, having no intentions of ever returning ( then again he hadn't counted on living long enough for that to even be a possibility).

She was right. The best thing to do was to disappear, skip the whole confrontation all together. They thought he was dead anyways so there wouldn't be anyone out looking for him, and really no one would be surprised that another Kurosaki ran off—her classmates practically expected it of her anyways.

It still didn't make it any easier.

They walked on in silence, wanting to cut across town the human way in case anyone was watching. Once they hit the less populated areas, they could shunpo as much as they wanted.

She led him to the bridge, the one they always seemed to find, and with sure steps, the pair walked across.

**One Day after deadline**

Her mind is drifting, not particularly thinking about anything. Her navy blues eyes are drawn out of focus. Headphones jammed into her ears, music turned on full blast, she offered to share, but he wasn't interested, his attention drawn instead to the book in his lap and their interlocking hands.

The world passes by outside her window, flashes of blue and green. They are drawing south, racing towards the coastal cities, towards marshes and mud.

The hum of the train puts her in a kind of trance, and her head flops on his shoulder as her gaze shifts upward, staring at that crystal blue sky and it poofy white travelers. He glances at the mass of black hair, the small body leaning into him, watches as her hand raises as if to trace the clouds.

He doesn't mind the weight on his shoulder, not really, didn't mind this simple form of affection. Dancing, partying, sloppy make out sessions, had never been his thing. Simple gestures, like her head on his shoulder, meant more. Maybe it was the innocence behind them, how they didn't demand anything more than was already being given, or maybe it was because they signified something more, something deeper than was just on the surface, something that was bigger than what any form of physical contact implied. Maybe it was because they didn't need the grand gestures, a big flashy show, just something like, like…something easy, something like _them_.

The hum of the train was slowly lulling her to sleep. Letting her hand fall back across her stomach, she yawned and the boy turned back to his book.

Simple. Easy. Just like them.

If asked where they were going, the dark haired girl really had no idea. Some tiny town in the middle of nowhere, it was all his idea. He had been really intent about it, going to this place specifically, and while she had grumbled about the ocean smelling awful this time of year, she had gone along with it.

He read his book while she snuggled into his shoulder. Really, this was living.

**One Week after deadline**

"_This_ is the exotic fishing town of Taiji?"

"Yeah," he nodded, his gut twisting with worry. "You don't like it?"

She cast a long look at the rows of houses on stilts, leaning at precarious angles, at the rooftops that appeared as though they were in a desperate need of a patch job. The smell of fish and salt was almost overpowering. The basic tools the fishermen were using to repair their boats or mend their nets made her feel like she had taken a trip back to pre-industrialized Japan. Was that guy sharpening a spear?

Yes. Yes, he was.

"What are you talking about? I love it!" Picking up her bag, she raced over to spear-man, wondering if he was hiring.

.

Apparently, it was bad luck to have a woman aboard a fishing vessel, even if she was particularly hardy. She could help around the dock if it so pleased her, but she could not go near the boat, couldn't so much as mend the nets least she curse them with misfortune.

Karin sulked all the way back to the tiny shack they were staying at, one part angry at the stupid sailor and his idiotic superstitious, and one part angry at her companion for getting the job _she_ asked for.

Said teenager was doing his best to stay out of her way. When she got moody like this, a tornado of destruction was practically inevitable. He would just have to find some way to make it up to her.

A few choice ideas came to mind.

.

The missing posters spread all over Karakura. Many residents familiar with the Kurosaki name simply shook their head. They had thought the younger sisters to be the most reasonable members of the odd family, but the warning signs had all been there, skipping class, getting kicked off the soccer team, running around the town late at night…really is should not have come as a surprise at all.

But to those who knew her, more than just her face or family name, questioned her disappearance. The note was in her own handwriting, her intentions of running away clearly stated, and yet, it seemed so…odd. Even for her.

What on earth could have caused it? So abrupt as well?

The soccer team made it their personal vendetta to track her down, certain she was only hiding out somewhere. Guilt buried in their chests. It was their fault, they were certain. They shouldn't have been so hard on her. They should have said something while they still had the chance. It was all there in that prank; they should have known. Why oh why hadn't the talked to her sooner?

Meanwhile, Yuzu Kurosaki, the finder of the note and one of the two people who had actually read it, sported a different look these days. Concern, worry, disappointment, dread. Often she was seen biting her lower lip. While she wasn't a ridiculous sobbing mess like her father, she kept insisting, in her quiet way, that more posters be made, kept making inquires on those that had last seen her sister.

What she found, she kept to herself, lips pushed firmly together. Her eyes were stained with dark lines as the lack of sleep caught up with her, but they did not moisten or dampen. No. The two blue orbs stayed dry even as they took on that distant look, staring off into the horizon, staring off at the bridge.

People began to wonder. How long would the next Kurosaki take? How long until there were no Kurosaki's left at all?

The young girl kept quiet. Her thoughts on her sister, whatever they might be, remained hidden behind closed lips and the blank stare of dry blue eyes. From that day on, she would not cry again.

**One Month after deadline**

Things had finally quieted down in Seretei. Most of the divisions had been disbanded, but those that remained now served more as a police force than as a military unit. Many were stationed in the human world, hanging around cemeteries and parks, performing soul burials as needed. It was hardly the fighting force it had once been.

It resulted mixed feelings. Some had been fighting for so long that they hardly knew how to sheath their blades. The ninth division absolutely refused to disband, but this didn't come as a surprise to anyone who knew the battle-hungry members. Surprisingly, the fourth division refused to dissolve as well, citing that while the fighting may be finished, healers would always be needed.

The fifth division had fractioned, as had the sixth, slowly loosing squadrons until there were hardly any left.

The tenth division had lasted a little longer, a mixture of stubborn faces. They refused to take on a new captain, refused to accept new academy graduates, refused to change the face of their division, but when the reconciliation packages started showing, money, food, clothes, starter kits for normal living, the familiar faces around the division had started disappearing one by one.

One day the fukitaicho walked in to the tenth division square to find it completely empty, deserted of all its former glory. Quietly, with slow, deliberate movements, she stepped back outside, sliding the bamboo door shut behind her. Then, Matsumoto Rangeku stood, blankly gazing at a door that would never be reopened and looking quite lost and unsure of what to do with herself.

She had been sober for a long time now, but for a moment, her legs felt wobbly, her head cloudy and disoriented as she leaned against the wooden frame. Just a moment, just give her a moment, and then she would be fine again.

.

The head of the Kurosaki household frowned. His fair-haired daughter was spending more and more time away from the house, and he had a suspicion on what she was up to.

The number of missing posters had doubled in the last week or so, and his daughter kept coming home looking more exhausted than she had the day before. Running in ever widening circles, asking passersby if they had seen her sister, had she come this way.

But Yuzu always came back, always returned home, always made diner with that smile on her face that was just a bit too tight.

His chest was heavy with regret. If he had just found the note first, plucked it away from his daughter's fingers, she would not be in the frazzled state she was in now. He could have made up some better story, something highly romanticized that his daughter would believe (she did technically run off with a boy).

But curse Karin for her blunt honesty and clipped tone, said she was leaving, didn't know where, didn't know how long, didn't know if she would ever be back. Said she didn't want them to worry, she would be perfectly fine, just needed a change of scenery for a while.

Needless to say, the younger twin had taken the news badly, insisting they file a missing person's report and begin looking for her sister immediately. Karin couldn't just leave, her sister insisted, she couldn't, she wouldn't, and yet, somehow, she had.

Yuzu was sure it was kidnapping, sure that someone had forced her sister along.

Her father knew better. Karin was a Kurosaki after all.

**One Year after deadline**

A buxom, former lieutenant was paying a special visit to the human world. Her eyes flashed around the tiny fishing village, casting a critical eye over the milling groups of sailors. One in particular caught her attention. Somewhat short, he had a cap pulled over his eyes, hiding his hair. He seemed to be a hurry, darting around carts of fish and merchants selling fruit with surprising ease. She followed after him, careful to keep her own head covered and a safe distance from him.

She had suspected he would be here, his hometown back when he had been a human. When she had herd the rumor that Kurosaki Karin had disappeared just after her captains supposed death, it struck the former shinigami as just a bit too convenient.

It had taken her months to find this place, having forgotten the name. All she knew was that it was a tiny fishing village, hardly worth note, easily missed if you weren't paying attention. But she had been here before, once, on a mission with Hitsuguya before he donned his captain's robes.

She still remembered his stunned expression when he spotted the leaning bell tower with its flecking red paint. The side nearest the ocean was covered with grey freckles, worn down by the spray of salt, but the side nearest to where they stood was scorched black.

She had found herself wondering out loud, what had happened to leave the tower so scarred. She hadn't expected the young trainee to answer.

He explained how there once was another building beside the tower, a store on the bottom, a house on top, where a family had sold their wares. A young couple and their son, they had been well off, doing surprisingly well in a community so deeply lined with poverty.

One night a group of bandit struck the town, targeting the shopkeeper and his wife. They had captured the son, holding a knife to his throat, as they demanded more gold and goods than the young couple could provide. Enraged, the bandits' leader threw the boy back at the couple. Raising a kerosene lantern high over his head, he muttered a single word, "_Burn_" before smashing it on the ground.

Most spirits don't remember their past lives by the time they reach soul society, and the few that do typically lose most of their memories within a few short years. It's a self-defense mechanism, letting go of the world of the living, replacing old memories with new.

Hitsuguya was still young though, young enough to still recall his former home, his former life, and his untimely death.

What would he have been like, she wondered as she trailed the boy to the outskirts of town, had the bandits not found his house. Would he have grown up normal? Would he have been so cold? Would she have ever met him?

If nothing else, it probably would have changed the dynamics of their relationship. Had he been an adult when he had met her, would she have still had that motherly instinct, that insuppressible desire to keep him safe? Would she have ever tried so hard to see past his frosty demeanor? Would they have even spoken?

The boy with the floppy hat made a sudden, sharp turn disappearing down a windy path. She quickened her pace. Taking a look around to make sure no one was watching, she took to the trees, leaping from limb to limb, keeping the boy in sight, yet staying out of sight. It was not long before they reached his destination.

It was a tiny house, small but well built. The walls looked strong enough to withstand the strongest storms, and the roof appeared as though it had been recently thatched.

There was a girl outside, long dark hair brushed behind her ear. She was bent over, pulling weeds from a garden of vegetables. Deeply focused on her work, she didn't hear the boy's approach. Arms latched around her midsection, and he spun her around. The girl laughed, struggling to break free, knocking the boy's floppy hat off in the process.

Messy white hair escaped from its confines, and the woman in the trees had her suspicions confirmed. So he was alive.

Spinning around, the girl pressed him against the house, kissing the white-haired boy senselessly.

The woman turned, retreating back the way she came. It was not a scene meant for her eyes. She smiled, happy that her captain had survived after all, beyond thrilled that he had found happiness of his own. That was all she needed.

She would not visit, would not bring him back to the world he left behind. He had found his closure, his peace just as she had found hers. Her little taicho was all grown up. He didn't need her any more.

One last thing. At the entrance to that winding pathway that led to the house hidden in the trees, she jumped down from her perch, soundlessly landing on the soft earth. Untying the pink scar, her long time companion, keeper of so many memories, she wrapped it around the nearest trunk, a simple knot to keep it in place.

There were some things she needed to let go of too.

It was time to return home, time to return Renji's calls. It had been a long time since she had gone out to a bar or gotten a well-earned bottle of sake, and she was well overdue for a drink.

She vanished in a flash of light. Maybe she'd come back some day. Not now, not yet, she still needed to get herself straight first, but one day, she promised. One day soon.

**One Century after Deadline**

Two souls met in the medium, tired, worn. Their smiles were weary as those who had traveled far and had lost much, but they were no less warm, their embrace no less joyful. Finally together, finally complete, finally whole, they joined hand and hand and rose to freedom.

Not to the earth and its humans and hardships. Not to the heavens of heartache or the hells of toil.

They climbed the steps few souls have trod, reaching for the worlds beyond the mortal paths of half humans and half angels, and, smiling, hands clasped, they joined the stars.

.

A young girl found a beautifully ornate box, black lacquer with gold trim. Gentle fingers picked it up, brushing off the dust.

Turning it over in her hands, she wondered what was inside it.

.

**A/N:** Thank you for making this journey with me. Thank you for seeing it though to the end. *Bows * From the bottom of my heart, thank you for making this worthwhile.

Let us go forth then and be legends. Let us be the stuff that dreams are made on.


End file.
